When Destiny burns
by masterdude21
Summary: After a deliberate accident in an ancient Forerunner scheme, a young Spartan is left stranded in a world that he doesn't understand. He gets himself inadvertently bonded to a dragon, marking him as a pawn in a new conflict. He must fight for his life and overcome himself to gain allies in a world where absolutely nothing makes sense. What do you do when your purpose has died?
1. A dance of faith

_For those two are new to me as a writer, welcome! I like to briefly (and sometimes not so briefly) address my readers and reviewers in Authors note at the start of the story. This Author's note shall be referred to as 'Pre-story babbling'. If I feel like an additional Author's note is required, such a 'Post-story babbling' shall also be inserted at the end of a chapter._

_Now then; this story is effectively a sequel to the first major story in my Crossover lines, which I call the Scattered Series. While reading part one of this series is not a major prerequisite to understanding the story, it might be important if you wish to know background information on some elements other readers are already familiar with. _

_But as this is chapter one, I shall not leave a single reader in the dark. Without further ado, the newest Inheritance-Halo crossover!_

_~0~_

_**Chapter One: a dance of faith**_

_Madness has many names. Some call it dementia, others call it insanity. There are some out there that tell tales of a woman possessed by evil spirits, turning her into a maleficent creature. There are stories of such possessed beings, called "mad" or "insane". People who are mad tend to be unpredictable, chaotic and sometimes violent. Their emotions are out of control and their grip of reality spirals uncontrollably into a deep, dark pit that can be called "madness"._

_King Galbatorix has been the source of a great many rumors. Some call him "mad", others call him "insane". There are people out there that tell tales of the reigning king of Alegesea being a mad man. These people are wrong, as they forget a fundamental part of reality itself. A mad man is unpredictable in thoughts and emotions; as prone to change as nature itself is. The mantra of madness might refer to his reasoning itself, but not to his ability to reason as that remains as sharp as it was at his prime. When a man of unlimited power has to deal with spies and infiltrators on a daily basis, they cannot be mad as that madness would be the end of the man suffering from it. _

_As such, the King cannot afford to be mad. He is not suffering from dementia neither is he insane, for he is as cunning as he is powerful. When he disposed of the Riders, keepers of peace and sanity, he knew that there would be repercussions. As the exterminator of dragons, murderer of elves, he was not safe from people wanting their retaliation. He had not survived so long into his life without planning in advance. _

_And Galbatorix had always been a planner. This "bane of his own kind" had always been a schemer, a thinker and a patient man. Nobody had been able to foresee the extent of his plans and that had cost them their continuing existence. _

_In continuing his reign of the lands, he needed to advance his planning to a point where no man or elf could depose him. _

_He had power, swords and Shades –men and women possessed by vengeful spirits- at his disposal, but his own mind served him better than a thousand warriors could. People knew of his secret; the rebellious group called the Varden knew of the existence of the three eggs and they had been able to steal one of them in a scheme of their own._

_But he had foreseen that. Three eggs, one stole, two under his control…and one additional egg, of which only he and a very select group of creatures knew off. The egg had been created many decades ago, when the father of his own dragon had fallen in love with a Rider's dragon. The egg, as black as the night and as dark as the deepest scales of his dragon, had been taken by him. _

_A mad man could not plan so far ahead. The King did. Wanting to recruit new and young Riders using the two remaining eggs, he sought to extent his control. In case something went wrong…or his schemes would fail him…he had one more egg at his disposal. That egg was a secret that not many living beings knew off. None of the Forsworn, his initial allies, had known of it and not even the most capable spy could find out about it. Every day and every night, he had two of his most powerful Shades guard the precious artefact. Female, as no living being could hope to match the cunning and intelligence of female Shades. _

_Their cunning was equal only to his and he had to work hard to make them loyal to him, like he had made the male Shade called Durza loyal to him. It was only through severely deprived bargaining and odds that he was able to trust the two guardswomen…and he didn't trust their environment with enchantments or other forms of sophisticated magic. Their ability had to be enough, as any more magic might…omplicate things._

_Nothing could hope to ever find that egg…that fourth egg, containing a dragon that would serve as the crucial part in many of his plans. For it wasn't hidden in his tower, but in an inconspicuous room next to it. With that creature under his control, he could survive the loss of his original dragon, the loss of the other eggs and even the destruction of his empire. An enchantment to change the perception of his soldiers was all that he needed to hide it from public view –and all who had the mental ability to see the building and attempted to enter it, would be executed._

_He took no risks. As a Rider, he was invulnerable to the devastating effects of time. Only a blade could take his life…and that would never happen to him, for Galbatorix was not mad._

_He was not insane. He was cunning, intelligent and dangerous. And he had plans…so many plans and schemes. _

_One rebellious group would not depose him. Only a god could hope to destroy the King's reign –and there were no gods._

_He knew that. There were only demons –and they all served him._

~0~

_*ERROR, SYSTEMS FAILING. SHAW-FUJIKAWA DRIVE OFFLINE. HULL BREACH IN SECTORS 7, 3 AND 2. ERROR, SYSTEMS FAILING…*_

_On December 25, 2552, the war with the genocidal alien race known as the Covenant had effectively been declared 'over'. A series of severely needed and desperate actions had been taken by mankind to reach this so-called "victory", amongst which was the SPARTAN-II project, which turned the tide of the war. Less known to public was the SPARTAN-III project, which bought mankind several time. Even less known that these Projects was the Secret-SPARTAN-II project, started after 2535, using a combination of war-orphans and {DATA EXPUNGED}. These Secret-Spartans were to be used by Section Seven of ONI, for completing black and special operations, including but surely not limited to: wetwork, assassinations, sabotage and clearing ops. These 13 Spartan units were to be considered assets to ONI only, being trained and developed by Colonel Ackerson, Admiral Parangosky and a severely limited selection of other personnel._

_Sometime after the Fall of Reach, the UNSC Destroyer Platernus was ambushed by Covenant ships. In a desperate attempt to escape the Covenant and continue on their high-imperative mission, the Captain ordered an Underpowered Slipspace jump, accidentally sending the ship towards a new and random trajectory, but also killing every single living thing on board except for Secret-Spartan-011._

_All contact with 2-Sierra-011 was lost._

_On April 3th, 2553, mankind regained contact with 2-Sierra-011, who had been missing for months by that time. They encountered him on a Forerunner Testing world, ruled by two AI's in control of a last-effort project to prepare mankind for a possible return of the Flood. This 'Energy Conversion Project' spanned multiple, seemingly random planets across the galaxy. Thinking that mankind had come to reclaim what was supposed to be rightfully theirs, the AI designated as Laughing Under the Coexisting Years assumed control over several Slipspace-bomber fighters, opening new slipspace portals to scatter the assorted Battlegroup Lima across these worlds._

_This event was known was the Scattering. The battlegroup that had been sent to recover Secret-Spartan Math-011 carried several of these ONI section-seven class Spartan operatives with it. _

_All contact with Battlegroup Lima was lost as per April 3th, 2553._

~0~

"Murtagh?" Eragon asked, fumbling with a piece of meat. He felt really nervous, for a multitude of reasons. Not only was his relationship with Murtagh troubled by their recent conflicts, but it was also the day before they would attempt to rescue the woman from her prison in Gil'ead. Freeing her from the Shade would be near impossible to do…even with Saphira's help. They would have to somehow infiltrate the city, get to the prison, avoid the Shade on the entrance and then free the woman from her cell. And then they would still have to get out of there without running into the entire army stationed there. And if that all worked out somehow, they would still have to face the Shade on their way out.

"What?" Murtagh replied, sounding annoyed.

"Do you ever think…about what is out there?" He carefully asked, not feeling like he knew how to place his thoughts.

"Nay…" Murtagh answered with an annoyed tone, lazily throwing a bone into the bonfire they had made. "Why should I? We are going to raid it tomorrow morning, I would like to sleep well tonight."

"I don't mean that!" Eragon impatiently added, thinking about a new way to formulate his thoughts. "I meant outside of Alagaesia; outside this world. Do you think there is anything out there, amongst the stars?"

Murtagh frowned. "Why do you ask?"

"I…I have been thinking about it lately. I don't know how to put it…" He fell silent for a few minutes, chewing on the meat that had once belonged to an animal, before he had caught and killed it. "There is nobody I have met who can tell me what is up there, beyond the skies."

"_Don't be silly little one," _Saphira told him in his mind, "_Focus on the trouble at hand, not on things that hold no importance for our future."_

"_But…"_ He replied, still unable to convey his feelings in a proper way. Ever since Brom had died, his mind had feel filling itself with doubts and questions. Brooding wasn't the best way to deal with sorrow, but at least it provided him with fresh insight on how to deal with new situations…or so he liked to think. "_Nobody has ever gone beyond the skies. Nobody knows what is out there…don't you know? Have dragons not soared higher than the sky?"_

Saphira snorted. "_A dragon would be wiser than to fly higher than is possible. We would go too close to the sun and burn ourselves!"_

Eragon nodded, understanding his friend's point. Things had just not been the same lately; with Murtagh accompanying him and his own strange visions he had periodically…he just wanted something solid to hold on to. Something that he could use to make things normal again. If it was a useless question about the world, then so be it.

"What would be beyond the stars?" Murtagh told him. "Nothing for us, that is what. Our problems lie just ahead. You shouldn't pay too much mind to the things you don't understand."

Eragon shook his head, not wanting to believe that there couldn't be something more than just their own world. "I think there is someone who knows it. Perhaps we will encounter that person on our travels?"

Murtagh grunted and wiped his hands off on his trousers. "Whatever. I am going to sleep now, you would be wise to do the same, you know? Thinking too hard is stressful before a fight."

"_Murtagh is right,"_ Saphira stated, "_Go to sleep now little one."_

"I was just asking," He muttered and began preparing the place where he was going to sleep. Of course Murtagh and Saphira were right; there couldn't possibly be anything out there…right?

~0~

"This is Captain Wren, all hands on deck and brace for impact!" The Captain in command of the UNSC Frigate _When Duty Ends_ yelled in the intercom, hoping to brace his personnel for the coming Slipspace exit. Their ride had been everything but pleasant if it was a fair assumption that the end of said ride would be even less than pleasant.

From the moment they had previously arrived at a world with so many life-signs, he had known that something was wrong. In fact, the entire operation to recover a missing Two-Sierra was just wrong –and not in the usual ONI wrong. The Spartan had been missing for more than four months –the chances of him being still sane after that were less than slim. But they had exited Slipspace nonetheless, to safe him from his isolation and possibly investigate the source of the signal that had allowed the UNSC to find him

And the very second they had appeared in-atmosphere to orient themselves and get a bead on the signal, these…drones…had appeared alongside the dorsal side of the _When Hope Ends, _illuminated themselves with a bright blue light, consuming the front, aft and dorsal in an overwhelming glare and…the rest was a little bit fuzzy. Even the bridge had been lit too brightly for anyone to see what was going on.

And then his navigational officer had told him that the Frigate had entered Slipspace once again, even though their engines were still recharging…making that statement impossible. So he had ordered his crew to double-check their data, as he had been reluctant to believe it at first. But it hadn't taken him long to change his beliefs, when virtually his entire crew in the bridge had told him that they were in fact, in slipspace.

It had been curious…but believable.

The most recent fights in the Human-Covenant war, especially those at the climax of the conflict, had proven that there were was weird shit out there…and he had seen quite a lot of weird shit. The aliens that the Covenant worshipped, called Forerunners, had been capable of feats like astro-engineering and repopulating entire planets. They had built the Halos and the Ark and they had been capable of purging the entire galaxy of life –not that anyone outside of ONI would find out about that.

It would be easy for those aliens to force ships into the eleven non-visible space called Slipspace. But the question was: why? More so than 'how'.

"Sir, our radar disk has been destroyed! Our shielding was breached near the aft section by an unknown impact and we have multiple hull-breaches!"

"Seal those blast doors! Evacuate all personnel to the front of the ship and prepare for a possible combat-landing!"

Their destroyer was seriously understaffed. They had a crew of fifteen men and women in the bridge and about thirty-five marines standing at the ready and that was about it. A skeleton crew. Just before they had made the final jump to 011's coordinates, they had transferred some personnel to the _Wayfarer_. That maneuver had the diplomatic Destroyer with plenty of hands aiding in a possible defense against boarding parties, but it had left _them_ with a severe lack of able-handed men and women.

Fifty people to maintain and pilot a Frigate weren't very much. He didn't want to lose a single person anymore, not since the billions of senseless casualties inflected at the hands of the Covenant. Their rescue mission had turned ugly alright, but that was no reason to simply give up and die. And neither was the fact that some Forerunner ships had decided to send them into a completely new directory.

Captain Wren still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that they had managed to perform such an accurate in-atmosphere jump, only to get ambushed by Forerunner ships a few seconds later. From all the Intel gathered on the Halos and the Ark, mankind had been able to make a few stunning conclusions. The tale of the Master Chief had concurred with their conclusions: A very long time ago, the parasitic race called the Flood had fought a great war with the alien race known as the Forerunners, which led to the inevitable fall of hundreds of worlds. Eventually, the once great civilization had been forced to employ seven weapons of mass destruction, called the Halo Array. Using the Halos, they had purged the galaxy of life to starve the Flood. After that catastrophic mass-extinction event, the Forerunners had repopulated the galaxy using individuals from each and every race, including humanity.

And according to the artificial constructions encountered on the Halos and the Ark, what was left of the Forerunners had made sure that mankind would inherit their technology, marking them as Reclaimers.

Of course, since such a large portion of the military had been involved in these battles marking the final days of the war, ONI couldn't cover up all the stories that circulated around the UNSC. Then again, there was no need for that.

Or so Wren thought at least. Morale was very high among the fleets since their alliance with the Sangheili –commonly known as the Elites and the idea that mankind had been part of a greater plot in the galaxy would only raise that morale.

And then the ship suddenly lurched backwards, sending some personnel tumbling into their consoles and screens. One unlucky individual was thrown halfway across the bridge when he couldn't grab something in time. Stars and the black vacuum of space exploded into view, together with a planet covered in green, brown and blue.

"Status report!" The captain cried out.

"Sir, the systems are dead. Whatever that Slipspace jump did to us, it fragged most if not all of our systems!"

"What do we still have?" He asked, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"We still got access to our thruster-system, manual opening of hangar bays and the Public Announcement systems, sir! If we want to, we can drift closer to the planet and enter in a synchronous orbit."

"And then we can deploy our ships and search the surface for human life?" He sarcastically stated, knowing that that was most likely what Two-Sierra zero-one-one had done.

"Sir, our communications are dead. Our radar disk was blown clean off during the transition –we won't be able to call for help until it's repaired sir!"

Wren cursed under his breath and quickly tried to think of something else to do. In times of emergency, the crew looked at their commanding officer for guidance and orders. And since he was in charge of the entire battlegroup Lima –or what was left of it- he couldn't just sit down and do nothing.

They could just sit tight until they had repaired the communication disk; it would only take a few days at the most and it wasn't as if there was anything interesting down on that planet-"

"Sir! Our short-range scanner came to life again and we are reading hundreds of thousands of life-signs down there!"

The Captain sighed again and crossed his arms. "What do you have for me?"

"Scanner says most of them are human sir. But this planet doesn't match with any of the known colonies."

"Perhaps it was declared destroyed by the Covenant?" He opted.

"Could be sir," One of his navigational officers replied.

If there were humans down there he could get some help. Perhaps he even find a way to contact the UNSC to give them a ride? He had no idea why those drones had sent them there, or if the rest of Battlegroup Lima was still intact. Perhaps they were here by accident as per safety measure to get them away from the first planet, or perhaps they were here for a reason. Whichever it was, it would probably be a good idea to send a scout party down there. The problem was that he didn't want to risk his crew on something as dangerous as exploring a planet that wasn't in the system.

Because the UNSC had a tight list of its colonies to effectively deal with threats and possible invasions. Lots of colonies were destroyed by the Covenant. If they had a planet down there that didn't match with any of the known colonized worlds…and said planet was habited by human life…they might possibly have a problem.

Because an entry could be wiped by Insurrectionists to hide the planets where they had major operations. The Secret-Spartans had been extremely effective in eradicating all rebel presence over the years and during the war, but there could still be a world out there that belonged to the Innies.

And they wouldn't like a UNSC ship flying down to meet them. On the other hand, Wren had no desire to spark another war. And on the contrary to a certain individual on board, he didn't want to waste one more human life for some senseless war. Enough had died at the hands of the Covenants…and enough had died at the hands of ONI.

No, he would not start a conflict with the rebel forces possibly down there. But neither would he risk valuable personnel.

"Alright people, I have decided," He told his crew and activated the PA system, broadcasting his voice throughout the ship. "This is your Captain speaking. Our systems are fried; communications are broken and we are effectively drifting in space. But there is a habitable planet down there, possibly inhabited by human life. It doesn't match any known colonies, but we don't know if that list is even accurate anymore. I will lead a recon operation on its surface."

He paused and quickly thought of a few people that he would want in the Pelican dropship with him. "If you hear your name, report to Hangar Bay One immediately."

And as he went through a list of seven marines, he decided that it would be better for everyone of he had Spartan with him.

"And Two-Sierra zero-zero-seven."

A few of his officers tried to hide their surprise at his decision, but he pretended to not see them. 007 had a…less than ideal combat record for this operation. But then again, there wasn't a single Secret-Spartan out there that was ideal for something as this. ONI's pets only served to kill and destroy –as Spartans should, really. But he agreed with Mental Health Specialist Jennifer Sunfield, who had spent years working with them. They were unstable, dangerous and untrustworthy.

It didn't help that they were still kids, really. The oldest one was currently twenty-one…and the youngest one was eighteen. The Spartan currently on board of the _When Duty Ends_ was nineteen.

But as the commanding officer, the decision was up to Wren. And his word was final.

"Sir, is this a good idea?" His navigational officer asked.

"No, probably not. But I will be damned if I let any good UNSC personnel die for some needless conflict. If those people are our enemy and they insist in staying like that, I want to be the first to find out."

It was a sentimental decision really. He didn't feel like blindly putting his life on the table for people that could be considered expendable by ONI. But that was exactly the point. He had spent so many years working for that Office of Naval Intelligence that he was tired of sacrificing people for the so-called "greater good". It was time for him to put his ass on the line first.

"Sir?" One of the officers asked him.

"Yes?"

"Even if we can get communications to work again…the ship is still dead. Whatever that slipspace jump did to us, it completely annihilated our ability to travel. It might be weeks before the UNSC finds us."

"I know that," Wren replied with a grim expression on his face. "All the more reason to make nice with whatever is down there."

~0~

Captain Wren had called him to the Hangar Bay to prep for a recon operation, investigating a possible UNSC colony to see if they couldn't get help.

Secret-Spartan-007 didn't like that idea though. A UNSC Captain working for ONI, being the first one to possibly walk into a trap? With only seven marines supporting him? Unthinkable. They would only be wasting time down there.

He marched towards the Pelican that had been readied for the descent. With a total of eight humans and one Spartan sitting in the ship, it would be very cramped. As such, he wanted to enter last. That way he could exit the ship sooner than the other personnel and neutralize any and all hostiles that would target the Captain. Their mission to rescue Math-011 had been compromised, but that wasn't a reason for the Captain to die.

He ignored the nervous stares of the seven marines that were gathered in the Hangar Bay and started to inspect the armaments of the Pelican. They might run into aerial-hostiles; they needed enough munition to counter them. Aside from the usual supplies of MA5C Assault Rifle munition, there were also quite a few clips for the M6D Magnum series stored in the compartments.

Of course this dropship would be armed for war; it was his own transport. Usually when he was assigned to a ship, it was because he needed a ride to the next objective. A Pelican would be specially rigged for atmospheric insertions, withstanding the high temperatures and possible AA fire for long enough so that he might get to the ground and commence his operation.

But this wouldn't be a combat-drop, according to the Captain. This would be a recon mission. But when things went hot, he wanted to be prepared.

While he grabbed a few weapons to keep at his person, the surface elevator opened and a few men stepped out. One of them was Captain Wren, the man in command of the _When Duty Ends_. The other two marines weren't important; probably guards.

He snapped his feels together and saluted, straightening his back. "Officer on deck!" He called and the seven marines who were present all snapped to attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen, at ease." The Captain spoke. He wore the standard black ONI officer outfit, with the four bars and single star that identified him as the senior officer in charge of the ship. "We have no idea what is down there. Could be a ruined civilization, could be a rebel base. What we do know is that they can provide us with the help we need. I have tasked several engineers and naval officers with repairing the communication array; they will stay aboard the ship. Even if one of the groups fail, we will still be able to repair our disk."

"Sir, permission to speak?" One of the marines, a Corporal, asked.

"Permission granted."

"Sir, what the hell happened back there? Did we get forced back into Slipspace without having to recharge our engines?"

"Keep sharp marine!" One of the larger marines –the current Staff Sergeant- barked at the unfortunate soldier. "And use your brain this time! Noticed the sudden de-acceleration of the ship? The smooth ride we are enjoying at the moment? This ship just jumped out of Slipspace! How did we get there in the first place?"

"But Sarge," The marine complained, "I don't know how we got to Slipspace, we just jumped!"

"Why you-" The Sergeant growled, but the Captain spoke up again and everyone simply shut up he did.

"You encountered those drones at the Ark before," Wren stated, "Those Forerunner robots are capable of doing lots of things. I think one of them turned itself into a portal, or a Slipspace drive. It pulled us in and sent us here. It is our job to find out why."

"Sergeant?" The Captain asked, mentioning to the prepared dropship.

"Aye sir! You heard the man, get to it! MOVE OUT MARINES! You got a purpose today so act like it!"

The Spartan subtly frowned, wishing that the pointless conversation would be over soon. He understood that a briefing was important, but he wanted to be on the move already. And the yelling that the Staff Sergeant did was just plain annoying. If a soldier needed such screaming to get motivated, he or she wasn't a good soldier.

While the rest of the group got on board the Pelican, the Captain took a moment and mentioned for him to follow him a few meters away from the dropship.

"We got no idea what we are dealing with here Spartan, but if it turns out we can operate on a diplomatic level, I need you to lay low for a while. If we face hostility of any kind, I need you to separate from us and do what you do best."

"Sir," He confirmed the request. Doing what he did best usually meant infiltrating, sabotaging and assassinating the enemy command structure. If Captain Wren and his men ran into trouble, he would have their backs by killing all essential personnel responsible for their trouble.

"Make no mistakes, I don't want you anywhere near civilian centers or diplomatic events. I know of your record son."

He nodded, understanding what the Captain meant. He didn't like hearing that –especially not in the condescending tone that the commissioned officer was currently using. But he agreed nonetheless. "Yes sir."

"Good," Wren said and marched towards the open hatch of the dropship.

The Spartan waited for a few seconds before following him. He already knew that he couldn't stick close to the group of marines and their CO, but that was not a problem. He disliked working in groups and he nearly always worked alone.

"Alright marines, listen up!" The Staff Sergeant bellowed. "We are going to descend down the planet, search for more intelligent life than you lot and employ them to help us. If any of you are scared of atmospheric descents, this is your lucky day to man up!"

"Ooh-rah!" Some of the marines yelled in return, but most of them kept silent. When he entered the dropship and allowed for the hatch to be closed behind them, the few conversations that were taking place died away rather quickly.

He understood perfectly what his appearance did to the soldiers in his vicinity, even though these soldiers were specifically chosen by ONI to work with classified projects and operations. They knew that he wasn't a true SPARTAN-II, but that didn't diminish their obvious awe of him. It was a reaction that came naturally with all soldiers, battle-hardened ODST's or simple rookies. He wore MJOLNIR MK VI armour, with a dark black-gray tint. He knew of several Secret-Spartans that had chosen for other permutations, but he preferred the default helmet. It served him the best.

"Captain?" The Staff Sergeant asked. "Permission to speak?"

"Granted," Wren told him.

"When are we going to get back to our missions?"

The Captain seemed thoughtful for a few seconds and he could understand why. Even though the war with the Covenant was over, the troubles of the UNSC had not ended. ONI had still been sending them from one location to another to partake in a series of crucial missions; ending rebel threats, destroying Covenant-Loyalist parties and rogue Elite fractions. This was just the latest mission in the series, even though it had ended in what was most likely a defeat. Their disappearance wasn't quite as crippling as Math-011's disappearance had been back in 2552, but it was a blow to humanity nonetheless.

The sooner they had fixed their problem the better.

The remaining guards moved back into the ship and activated the hangar bay once the pelican was ready for take-off, lowering the heavy bulkheads and allowing the ship to leave the _When Duty Ends_.

The Spartan remained near the sealed hatch of the ship, with his back turned to the other crew. Their descent down the atmosphere of the planet didn't go off without a hitch; pelicans never inserted without getting a bit uncomfortable for the people inside. He didn't notice any of the less-than-ideal circumstances, but the marines behind him had grown silent. That was a sign that they were uncomfortable.

Good. They wouldn't disturb him then. They descent didn't take very long, as the Pelican dropships had been upgraded a lot since the last few months. After a few minutes of silence, the vibrating of the internal structure ceased and was replaced by a heavier, more noticeable trembling.

They continued to descent towards the surface for another two minutes before the turbulence ceased.

"This is India three-sixteen," The pilot then told them, breaking the silence. "We are nearing the surface right now. I spotted something that might be interesting."

"Go ahead India, what do you got?" The Staff Sergeant said.

"We got a city down there. Like a big one. With stone walls and the like."

"Copy India, what else?"

"The city has a large slab of stone hanging over it, natural barrier I guess. Looks like a fancy city, but very…medieval."

Medieval age…the time of knights and dragons in the year 500 of Earth history. Of course dragons and witches didn't exist, but it was a very influencing cultural era for humanity.

"Come again, Three-sixteen, medieval?" The Sergeant asked, sounding surprised.

"Copy that Sarge. I can't spot it very well, want me to take the bird lower?"

"Copy that India Three-sixteen, take it closer. We'll see if we can't land there and communicate with these people," Captain Wren told them.

The Spartan frowned, taking notice of the strain in the Captain's voice. "Sir, permission to open the hatch?" He asked, already moving his hand to the lever.

"Denied! We can't risk scaring these people. Take us down India."

He removed his hand from the lever and prepared himself for potential AA fire. The pilot had said that the city looked medieval, including walls. But if this was an UNSC settlement, it would be visible from the sky. They would have been hailed by transmissions…or they would have picked up other radio traffic. There should be signs that this city was UNSC-controlled, even if it was just filled with civilians. And yet…medieval? That sounded strange. Perhaps these people had survived some disaster that had forced them to start all over?

But if that was the case, they should have been recognized by the population. Rebel or not; every single living human knew of the UNSC and their fight against the Covenant. What could have happened here? And why had those drones sent them here? Was it truly a random trajectory, or were they here with a purpose? Perhaps they Forerunner machines had wanted them to help this community?

No…there was more to it. He just couldn't place it.

"This is it people, prepare for a landing. We are going to initiate contact with these civilians," Captain Wren told his crew. Normally, Navy CO's let their Sergeants or other officers speak for them. But Wren was a different case; he was an experienced officer that had been seeing action for at least twenty years, having joined the navy at age twenty. He was forty-three now and had refused two promotions, stating that he wanted to stick to fighting the Covenant at the front lines while transporting the Secret-Spartans to their goals.

He wasn't a spook though; Wren had showed that he could be soft at several occasions.

Not that the Two-Sierra-007 cared for that. If the man got the job done, he would be good enough for him.

Suddenly, their ship lurched sharply to the right and the marines were shook heavily when it became subjected to heavy turbulence.

"We got hostile fire!" The pilot cried out and an alarm began to blare in the interior.

"What are they using?" The captain replied and gestured at him, telling him that he had to pop the hatch. Opening the heavily armoured door while in midair and under enemy fire wasn't the smartest thing to do, but he understood the Captain's reasons.

"No rockets, we don't have a lock or anything," India Three-Sixteen told them while the Spartan opened the door, allowing him to see what was going on.

He noticed that there were a dozen people wearing black cloaks spread out across the rooftops, approximately fifty meters below them. They appeared to be making gestures with their hands and everytime they made such a synchronized movement, a red spherical projectile appeared from thin air and surged towards the Pelican, slower than bullets or plasma but with enough velocity that the ship couldn't dodge them.

"Sir, unknown hostiles below!" He snapped and took aim with his assault rifle when there was enough space for him to fire.

"Spartan, remember our deal! Get out, engage and buy us time!" Wren ordered him.

"Sir?" The Staff Sergeant asked with a surprised tone.

"What?" Several marines muttered and one of them tried to ask the Captain what he was thinking. But another impact rocketed the dropship and the pilot cried something about being unable to target the hostiles.

"Sir!" He verified the order and took notice of a large tower underneath the slab of stone, guarded perfectly against attacks from above. They had flown the Pelican dropship to the edge of that platform, but the sustained enemy fire seemed to grow more intense with every meter they got closer to the tower. "Move us closer to the tower."

"You heard the Spartan, move it!" The Sergeant bellowed, but the pilot didn't even reply to then. Years of experience had taught these soldiers when to act immediately and when to act immediately without being ordered so.

Once he had been brought close enough and concluded that the ship couldn't safely approach the tower closer, the Spartan jumped.

On that moment, he didn't think about the possible armies stationed in the large city. He didn't think about the implications of cloaked men pulling fire out of thin air or possible consequences of those projectiles for the Pelican and Three-sixteen. The only thing that was on the super-soldier's mind was landing, breaching and killing. He felt a hot feeling spread throughout his abdomen as the adrenaline flowed freely through his blood and sped up his reactions. Time seemed to slow and speed up simultaneously and he focused on the small building next to the tower, where he was going to land.

He wasn't attempting to land, he wasn't trying to get anywhere. He _was_ going to land at his target. It was a fact. A given. And while he aimed at the oddly built structure, he overpressured the hydraulic gel-layer in his MJOLNIR armour and forced his limbs closer to his body, increasing his speed and reducing drag. Twenty meters and closing. He took notice of several red-clad men and women moving around between the rapidly growing buildings, but by the time they would arrive at his target he would have already breached it and moved up to the tower. For that structure had to contain the leaders off this city –this outpost that had opened fire on the dropship.

He placed his chin against his chestplate and prepared himself for the impact. The adrenaline that was raging through his body had given him enough time to analyze the situation, take actions and think of a plan. He knew what he was going to do and what it would mean to the command structure of his enemy.

His body crashed into the stone structure, smashing through the walls before they could stop him. He felt a series of rapid impacts jar his bones and teeth and his shielding dropped to ten percent when his suit impacted on the series of stones and other items with considerable speed.

He had made those jumps before, but almost never with the intent of using his own body as a bunker-buster to breach a stone structure.

The Spartan ignored the white flash that had appeared in front of his vision and staved off the shock of the impact, exploding into movement the very second he could. It was comparable to the so-called "golden hour" of the ODST's , where the very first hour after landing behind enemy lines was the most important. And while he had been denied more than forty percent of his Augmentation-details, he had read the reports that weren't classified for him. His body was more than strong enough to survive such an impact without killing him and while wielding his MJOLNIR, he wouldn't even be incapacitated. Perhaps a few bruises and minor tissue-damage, but that would be it.

He had blown a Spartan-sized hole in the stone wall and crashed through the wooden floor, smashing the planks into a collection of splinters and nails. It had taken him only a few seconds to breach the bunker-like building and in the one second that he had to clear his mind and focus his thoughts, he had already jumped out of the hole and kicked down the heavy wooden door that blocked his way.

The entrance led to a dark tunnel, completely devoid of light and probably littered with traps. Even through the hormone-induced state of combat, the soldier realized that he needed to tread carefully. With his enhanced eyes, he was capable of seeing most if not all of the things that were scattered on the floor.

As such, he quickly determined that there wasn't anything there to impede his progress. Curious, why didn't the enemy use this long hallway to stop potential intruders? Where they stupid?

He sprinted across the hallway, crossing the twenty-meter long structure in only a few seconds. He used his impressive momentum and weight to smash right through the thick wooden door, smashing into it with his right shoulder so that he might roll through the opening and get to his feet in one smooth movement. Holding his gun.

He crashed through the door, fell to the floor and reached out and grabbed his assault rifle while rolling over the floor. After approximately half a second had passed since him touching the door, the Spartan got upright and analyzed the room he was finding himself in. His vision was almost devoid of colour, with things like red and yellow tints brighter and more prominent than normal. All details and objects were sharper and clearer than ever and as he aimed down his sights at the nearest humanoid being, he took notice of the bright red hair and cloak that his target was wearing. A long, red sword with unnaturally small barbs was being held on one hand, while an oddly shaped dagger was resting in the other.

The hostile was human, very tall, redheaded and obviously hostile. He pulled the trigger as soon as he had lined up with her head and placed one leg in front of him to brace himself against the wooden floor, having been carried a bit too far by his sprint.

While he pulled the trigger, something exploded into view and he spun around as fast as he could, repositioning his assault rifle while doing so. There was an additional hostile there, but his motion tracker didn't identify them as friendly or hostile.

The motion he had seen from the corner of his eye was a thrown dagger with an unusual long point, flying in a perfectly straight line towards his head.

Despite the fact that he could easily withstand that attack without as much as a scratch, it was his instinct as a Spartan to dodge it. Throwing knives were generally better to be avoided, as he had learned when he was younger. He side-stepped and sighted in on the head of the second hostile, also a redheaded woman but this time with hair that reached down lower than her waist.

He squeezed the trigger once, but didn't get time to pour down more fire as something moved near his right position again. He moved to his right and avoided a sword that cleaved through the air in a downward arc, neatly slicing through the air he had been occupying a split-second before.

He lashed out and punched the elbow as he passed the first woman, breaking it with ease and sending a jagged spike of bone out of her skin.

The woman screamed and he kicked her against her side, breaking all the ribs on her left flank and sending her tumbling through the room.

He moved backwards and attempted to shoot the second female –the one with her stupidly long hair- but she somehow managed to perform the same side-step as he had done and actually dodged the bullet. Then she closed in on him with more speed than a charging Elite could muster and slashed at him with another sword, which he barely managed to dodge. These humans were odd. Very odd. They gave off a very bad air…it was almost like he could feel that there was something wrong with them.

He ignored the rising sense of unease and throw a few quick punches to the first female, two of which she dodged with a sharp, jerking movement and last of which she simply deflected with two of her hands, pushing him to the side.

That took him aback. He had never ever encountered a being before that could actually dodge his attacks…even Elites weren't fast enough to dodge that one punch that broke their neck or spine. What was going on with these two? Were they…were they drugged? Enhanced?

He suppressed the memory that came when he reached that hypothesis and focused on dispatching his foe. But the first hostile –shorter hair, dispatched via broken arm and shattered chest- suddenly joined the fray again, lashing out at him with both her sword and her knife.

How? How was that possible? He had killed her, he had completely destroyed her chest cavity via that kick –she should be dead or dying. What had these people done to these females?

"Stupid human!" The recently healed one laughed. "Leave this artefact alone; do you wish to die?"

Artefact?

His right leg bumped into something solid and he heard a soft 'crack', which he quickly identified as a piece of wood being shattered.

He rolled to the side to dodge a synchronized swipe with the blades and threw a quick look at the object he had backed into. It hadn't been visible before, that was for sure. It was a white chest, chained up and emanating a strange humming. It was almost like it contained something alive…

…but it was important to these messed up females, so it was important to him. They cared for it, he wanted it.

He pushed the leading hostile back, smashing her chest with the butt of his rifle and then lashing out with his hind-leg in a roundhouse kick, sending her tumbling across the room too.

Time continued along in its slow, strange properties and he moved to engage the one with the shorter hair. He exchanged blows with her for a few seconds before he managed to get besides her. Then, he wrapped one arm around her throat and pulled her down, jerking his arm back and breaking her neck in multiple places. Her body was frail and thin, but on no way was it weak. Nevertheless, her bones were wrenched apart as easily as those of an Elite.

Not so very easy.

The woman screamed in agony and her body slammed to the ground, where she continued to writhe and crawl before her body simply…disappeared. It exploded in a cloud of black smoke, her disembodied voice screaming for at least two seconds before the smoke faded away.

What was that? Was he seeing things now? It was probably some sort of…new chemical weapon. Inducing hallucinations or the likes. These people were messed up –and they reminded him of an equally messed up enemy. .

He shot the lock securing the chest and it opened. Then, he avoided a strike from the other female and noticed how she had become increasingly fast –her strikes were strong and powerful, much like those of another Spartan. Her irises were a deep colour of red and she bore a sadistic smile.

He jumped backwards, not wanting to risk exposing himself further to these nonconventional attacks.

"Scared are we?" The remaining female snared at him, jabbing her sword at his helmet. He countered by shooting her in her kneecaps and elbows, making sure that she would at least stay incapacitated for long. She screamed in pain when he inflected those wounds, but before the four spent cases could even clatter to the ground, he turned around and kicked the chest open. Inside of it was a large, black gem easily larger than his gauntlet.

Was this what these biologically-altered females were guarding? A gem? Well, whatever it was, it was going with him.

He grabbed the gem and placed it in one the pouches where he normally stored C-12 explosives and other large objects.

Just when the female had regenerated her wounds, two seconds after he had shot her, he decided that he had stayed for long enough. The entire city would be ready for war at that moment and he needed to alert Captain Wren about the strange abilities and skills that these people had.

The Spartan then turned towards the exit and started to run, quickly reaching a speed of at least thirty miles per hour. He dashed through the hallway, jumped over the rubble that was left when he had first impacted on the building and then grabbed a hold of the rooftop in front of him, swinging himself on top of it. There were hundreds of people screaming for his blood, with at least a hundred men in red medieval chainmail and garbing closing in from both directions. He could stay engage them, but that would cost him valuable time and munition. If he encountered those messed up beings again he would need all the bullets he had.

So he decided that he would fall back for now, following the direction where the Dropship had probably gone to.

If he could find that direction though…

He sprinted across the rooftops, dodging the futile attacks of soldiers and larger machines like catapults. On several occasions his shields flared as if to repel some unseen assailant, but he never saw who or what had struck him. He didn't think too much about those things though; his gaze was focused on the large, heavy gates ahead. They were closing. Rapidly.

If those gates were to close before he got out, he would waste even more time trying to circumvent them. Even though the constant jumping over rooftops, dodging the attacks of primitive machines of war and thoughts about the monsters he had just faced were slowing him down, he still managed to outsprint everyone that came after him, One several occasions a group of soldiers had attempted to block his way, whom he had then proceeded to completely trample without stopping. A swing of his arm here and a quick punch there made short work of their formations with shields and by the time he had actually come close to the gates, a minute or two later, he had killed at least two dozen men simply by running past them and deflecting them.

He caught motion on his motion tracker, but he gave it no thought. He wanted out and that was he would get.

"Close them now!" A man on top of the giant walls screamed, but he was just too fast. He reached the two gates just as they were threatening to touch each other in a closing movement and wrenched his hands in-between them. Arrows and bolts of crossbows smashed into the stone walls and gates, but they barely put any strain on his shielding.

He gave a rough pull and grunted softly as he tore the two gates open. Those things had to be at least twenty-five meters tall. Whoever had built this had quite some time and supplies at his hands.

He managed to wrench one half of the gate open and quickly vaulted past it, escaping the strange and enormous city with the valuable item he had procured from those two enemies.

But he didn't stop there. He continued sprinting, moving one leg in front of another and concentrating on his breathing as he dashed over the landscape like a grey shadow. Only when he had put considerable distance between him and the city did he turn back, looking onto the fortress as he tried to make sense of what he had seen and done there.

Then, the Spartan noticed something. Just barely visible without the zooming function of his HUD, standing on top of the wall.

It was the woman he had fought in that building. She was standing on top of one of the pillars, holding onto the stone blocks as she stared at him. Her long, red hair drifting on the wind as she continued to keep him in her eyes.

And he stared back at her. Even with at least two-hundred meters of distance between him and her, the super-soldier could see the feral snarl on her face and the thin sword in her hand.

She was going after him. He was sure of that.

And he would be ready for that. With the odd gem secured in his pouch and his assault rifle back in his hands, he started to move in a direction that he soon determined to be the south-east. He had spotted some mountain ridges there and that was most likely where the dropship containing Captain Wren and the marines had gone.

~0~

_When I start a fanfiction, I see it through. And I give it my all: I try to write with both quality and quantity and when I write a story, I write it as if it was a book that I wanted to publish. As such, there will be no misplaced attempts at joke-chapters or other things –and I try to keep the characters in character at all times unless the plot demands it to change._

_I have read all the Inheritance books and all the Halo books, but I know that I make mistakes at times. And writing is one big learning process in my head, so don't hesitate to call me out on mistakes or odd things that seem like plot-holes. The more feedback the merrier, I would say!_

_Now. I do not own Inheritance Cycle or Halo and I only own my own plot and possible OC"s. _

_See you next time_

_Ps: and yes, this is the average size of my chapters._


	2. Improbable odds

_The first chapter already got so many reviews, that's awesome! _

_We have all read the books; we know how hard it was for Eragon, Murtagh and Saphira to escort their newly rescued elf to the Varden. As such, I do not want to write about the things we all know. I will try to start writing the canon POV's once the crossover characters actually meet each other…unless people really want me to write Eragon POV's…then I might do that._

_But; a Spartan is way more interesting, right?_

…_right?_

_Also, another habit of mine is to reply to the people who reviewed me, to thank them for their feedback and to let them know that I always take criticism and tips seriously._

_**Jcraft596:**__ Oh well, this series is for free. It's good you enjoyed it!_

_**AK74FU2: **__I am glad to hear that._

_**Kain Everguard: **__Thanks, if things work out there will be more runoff stories._

_**Dracologistmaster: **__more you will have._

_**SPARTAN-262: **__I knew that he doesn't know of the round-world thing, but in my head, they can all see the stars at night –including the moon. He was curious as to what the stars are, what might lie there._

_Otherwise I feel honored that you are so happy with my work. As for 007: he is based off of a nightmare._

_And if I am honest, I am more intrigued by dragons than by sea serpents :D_

_**XxNeo-ChanxX: **__I hadn't decided on that yet. They are all taking place in the same universe and they are all canon, but I don't know whether or not I will tie them all together in one big multi-crossover or not. _

_**Tuutje07: **__Yep, can imagine that reading 2 stories at the same time is confusing. (don't mind me, writing 3 at the same time :3) _

_And yes, the military jargon might confuse people a lot…as it will confuse the existing characters too. Anyway, thanks for the compliments!_

_~0~_

"_Two-Sierra zero-zero-seven's Augmentation procedures will commence in thirty minutes. Is there anything you wish to point out before we start, Miss Sunfield?"_

"_Yes, I am rather curious about the process of the surgery. All the SPARTAN-II augmentations are included, aren't they?"_

"_Yes ma'am, they are."_

"_How are you so certain that the subject will survive the surgery at this age?"_

"_Three reasons ma'am. First: we have achieved some key developments on the area of bio-augmentations. The wash-out rate is lower than ten percent. Second: seven's a tough bastard. Third: the higher-ops from Section Seven are doing everything they can to increase their success rate."_

"_I see. Be careful and wish him luck."_

Conversation between Mental health Specialist Jennifer Sunfield and anonymous chief scientist member.

~0~

Of course. He should have known that it wasn't going to be as easy as he had thought.

The large city that the Spartan had stolen the black gem from was most likely the capital of the curious land. That meant that whoever was in direct control of the city was also in direct control over the rest of the country. That was how medieval settings usually worked.

Not that he was certain of the fact that these people actually lived in medieval settings. They had had a biological weapon strong enough to turn two women into warriors with the strength and durability of a Spartan –and a regeneration rivalled by none. There had been people firing projectiles at the Pelican all over the city, yet he had also seen hundreds of soldiers wielding crossbows, bow and arrows and all kinds of swords and spears. Those weapons generally didn't cause any harm to UNSC grade material.

There was more going on in this place…and he would like to find out just exactly what was going on.

However, as much as the Spartan wanted to meet up with his allies and investigate properly, he had still run into a snag. He had managed to flee the city with his price and head to the south, but the area he had then found himself in was teeming with hills and trees.

It was also teeming with soldiers. They wore the same red tunics as the men he had encountered in the capital city and they were all armed with broadswords and bows –barring the occasional crossbow, halberd and axe. Every now and then, a current of air lifted their tunics every now and then, revealing either leather body-armour or simple chain mail shirts.

They were way less armoured than the average Insurrectionist or Covenant warrior and those never stood a chance in close-combat with a Spartan. Even when he was unarmed and wounded, he could still take out up to four Elites, take their weapons and move on to hose the rest of their squads with lethal bolts of plasma.

Even better: although these soldiers superior numbers with their one-hundred and fifty men, they were scattered across the hills in their search for him.

The super-soldier had crouched down next to a large tree, halfway down the first hill. He could see at least four other hills he could move to, as well as enough trees and bushes to use as cover to avoid detection. However, these men posed virtually _no_ threat to him and if he let them stay on him, they might call for reinforcements

Besides; who knew if the same enhanced warriors were a part of these groups?

He could use some information on his current whereabouts, too.

The large group underneath him split up and ten soldiers moved to the left, while seven stayed their ground. He could see a few individuals with black cloaks spread throughout the group –those were the same type of hostiles that had attacked the Pelican.

His number one priority was taking them out. Possibly without alerting anyone.

He started making his way down the hill, trying to reach the closest group of soldiers without anyone spotting him.

No man was looking at him, he had caught them all by surprise. He was as silent as the dead; never making a sound and never betraying his presence to his enemies. And yet, as soon as he had reached the soldiers, one of the cloaked figures screamed "He's here!" and he was forced to accelerate his movements

These men had obviously been contacted and warned that someone had attacked the capital city. But there was no possible way that they could have figured out that he was there –nobody could have seen him. What had given his position away if not himself?

He wrapped his arms around the head of the first soldier and wrenched, popping the neck-vertebrae and killing him instantly. Before the body could even start to fall to the ground, The Spartan dashed forwards to engage the other men. The group he was currently fighting had seven initial armed men in it, as ten others had split up. The hills played a vital role in separating the soldiers, but that wouldn't last long.

He grabbed a man by the back of his head and punched him right above the Lumbar vertebrae, breaking his back. When the man fell through his knees, the super-soldier robbed him of his sword and broke his neck too. At that point, the screaming of the cloaked figure had called the attention of the rest of the men.

With the broadsword in one hand, he cleaved through the remaining five soldiers, killing them by decapitating them or by stabbing them through the chest, splitting their chest-bone in half. The piece of iron was worthless when compared to his other weapons, but he couldn't afford wasting ammo everytime he got himself in a conflict.

By the time the first group of soldiers had been dispatched of, the rest realized that their ranks had been infiltrated and they promptly moved to engage.

Not that it would help them; the Spartan rampaging in their midst was simply too fast. He had two goals in this engagements and when those had been reached, he would reorient himself to the south and keep moving. First he needed to eliminate the cloaked figures, as they would present the greatest threat. Then he needed to take a soldier and interrogate him, finding out just where he was and what was going on.

He dashed through the enemy lines, dealing death blows left and right with his sword, fist and legs. Everytime his body connected with someone, it spelled death. His sword flashed through the air like a silver blur, moving as fast as the Spartan wielding it and his unarmed blows rivalled the speed of his stolen broadsword, killing with pure blunt force trauma.

The soldiers might as well have been naked and unarmed before him, as they could not defend themselves nor could they strike the super-soldier.

And as the Spartan tore through the enemy lines, killing twenty-three men in one minute, he reached the first cloaked figure.

He was in the middle of twisting around to dodge the blade of a spear, placing his left shoulder in the direction of his target. He then brought his sword-arm to bear, dragging it through the air in an upwards arc, slicing at the figure from below.

But when the bladed edge of the sword impacted on the man's abdomen, he felt an unusual resistance. It was only there for a split-second, but it was noticeable enough. It was as if the sword had to sink through a thick layer of metal before suddenly plummeting through it, burying itself deep inside of the man's body.

A garbled cry escaped the cloaked figure's mouth as the broadsword cleaved through his body vertically, splitting his chest in half and killing him stone-dead.

As the cloaked man fell to the ground, he felt an unusual vibration running through the pouch where he contained the gem.

He gave the phenomenon no thought though, as more soldiers poured in through the hills and made their way towards him. They seemed absolutely terrified of him, yet they still chose to press the attack. Very well.

He discarded the broadsword, as he noticed that its usually sharp edge was already ragged and worn down. Those things weren't made to be used by someone with his strength; which was a positive thing. If the equipment for the soldiers on this world was meant for normal humans, those red-haired abominations couldn't be very common.

He pulled his combat knife out, wielding it horizontally with his right hand. The razor-sharp blade was aimed towards the group of advancing men, the edge of the knife pointing outwards. It would serve its purpose all too well, as he had used a similar one for six years in a row before it needed to be replaced. Actions taken with his knife usually ranged from prying through armour, slicing through iron-hard muscles and deflecting melee strikes from Elites and Brutes.

He could kill a thousand armored men with the knife and it still wouldn't wear itself down.

The Spartan didn't wait for the fifty or so males to surround him, but instead chose to go on the offensive himself. There were two cloaked figures spread throughout the ranks of the fifty men and both of them were currently raising their hands to signal the men to attack.

Curious outfit for army leaders though.

Time had slowed down since he had openly engaged the men and they moved as if they were suspended in honey; bringing their limbs to bear with a slowness that made it possible for him to kill them all within seconds. He was just too fast for these men –as he sprinted towards them, crossing the remaining ten meters within a second or two, they only managed to fire off a dozen arrows. Three of them impacted on his armour, but bounced off the shield harmlessly.

They only drained seven percent of his shielding.

And then he was right on top of the army. He punched the first man in his face, sending him tumbling into the arms of the men behind him, all of which fell to the ground in a heap. The Spartan's momentum had been enough to send them all flying, but some of them weren't dead yet.

The seven men he struck in the next two seconds, hitting them in the chest, side of head with well-placed jabs, hooks and uppercuts however, had no hopes of surviving. Every now and then he would feel the same strange resistance blocking his punch and on two occasions, what should have been a killing blow merely pushed a man backwards.

'_They are protected by some field,'_ He quickly realized, adapting his fighting style to match. When he fought grunts and humans, all he needed to kill them was one quick punch to the chest- or head-region. As such, when he had to dispatch a group of them in close-combat, he generally killed his targets with a single strike, allowing him to jump back and forth between the individuals that made up the bulk of the force to allow for quicker kills. When fighting Elites and Brutes in close-combat, however, that strategy didn't work. It was a rare day that he could kill one of those apes with a single strike and even Elites tended to survive the first impact at times. When he fought those two races, he would step closer after the first punch, bringing his body to bear for a few follow-up strikes.

And that was exactly what the super-soldier did to kill the strange shielded enemies. He slashed at one with his knife, noticed that he didn't cut through the carotid arteries like he had planned and stepped in to reengage the enemy. While his knife was still completing the slicing movement, he grabbed the man's face and pushed it backwards, exposing the throat for a follow-up strike. He then brought his knife down and this time, a small eruption of blood indicated that he had been successful.

After having killed fourteen men by means of precision melee strikes and knife-techniques, he reached the first cloaked figure. The man seemed to be chanting prayers, but that wouldn't serve him any good.

He dispatched of the man in the same execution manner as he had used before, but then he felt…_something…_ at the base of his skull, swimming around near his mind. It wasn't the same sensation that warned him of an impending sniper-shot or ambush. This was something else…annoying and semi-distracting.

His shielding dropped twenty percent all of a sudden, causing the Spartan to think that he had been shot.

But he hadn't felt anything, so it had to be fire of some sorts. Except that the internal temperature of his suit hadn't changed one bit…so what had happened?

A group of five men screamed in terror and threw their weapons down, surrendering to him and screaming something about a monster.

He ignored their attempts to get his attention and moved on to the second cloaked man, killing another seventeen soldiers with his adapted fighting style before he reached that man.

The figure extended both of his palms and a green light exploded from his hands, cascading through the air like an earthquake would tear the ground apart. He did not recognize it as a plasma discharge, neither was it the firing of a human weapon. That man was completely unarmed and yet he could unleash such a strange attack.

These humans were severely messed-up. He ducked underneath the double-handed strike and felt something hot race over his head, which_ did_ raise the internal temperature a few degrees. He struck at the man's midriff, sending him tumbling backwards and crashing into the side of a hill. Without waiting to see if the man had really been killed or not, he jumped after him and landed on all fours on the strange man's body, burying his knife up to the hilt into the man's jugular vein.

And that was the end of the cloaked figures in the armed group. After a fight that had taken him six minutes and fourteen seconds, he had eliminated over eighty man and the three people leading them. He still had all his ammo and at least two groups of a dozen men had run, deserting their unit to get to safety.

He wasn't done. He couldn't track and kill those men that had decided to run, as it would cost him too much time. However, he still had a group of fifty men to kill and from the looks of it, they were eager to fight him too. The brief lull in the fighting was enough for the men to spot him and one of them, whom he quickly identified as the leader, started to yell at him.

"Oi! You swine-bellied tick! Why don't you take your fancy breadknife and ram it up your-"

The Spartan threw his knife at the cussing man and hit him right between the eyes, impaling his brain and killing him dead. Before anyone could react to the death, the super-soldier charged closed in on the group and pulled the large combat knife out again, swiping it around to impale the next man.

By the point both the commander and the other guy were dead, the army started to descent into chaos. They simply lost their cohesion as many a man simply stood and watched or screamed and ran away while he mercilessly cut down everyone in his way, slaughtering the red-clad soldiers with their own weapons when his knife wasn't quick enough.

He grabbed the arm of a crossbow wielding man, slammed his knife into his neck and aimed the wooden weapon at a man running away. Then, he pulled the trigger and sent a metal bolt soaring through the air, ripping through the fleeing man's chain mail with ease.

He withdrew his knife and wiped it on the red tunic of a nearby corpse, not wanting to ruin the sheath that was attached to his chestplate with bits of gore.

Then, he grabbed a halberd and flung it at a group of three sword-wielding men, killing two of them and wounding the third.

The Spartan lost himself to the instincts of his body, descending deep into the gray state of his training, where there were no decisions made on the conscious level. Every action he took, every motion he made and every life he took were all direct consequences of the training that had spent years forging him into the soldier he was now. His training had taken over his mind.

The super-soldier fought for minutes at an end, moving faster than normal human eyes could possibly follow. He weaved back and forth between the dozens of soldiers, delivering lethal blows with every bladed weapon he could pry from the hands of his fallen foes. He jumped back and forth, alternating between breaking necks with his hands and skewering his enemies with stolen weapons. Swords seldom ever came close to touching him and on the rare occasion that a soldier was capable of striking at him, the blade merely bounced off of his shields and he retaliated with deadly force.

His vision had adopted the traits that made it easier for him to kill his enemies. Details were sharper, colours were both brighter as duller and the already slow movements of the jerky soldiers were even slower as his adrenaline-fueled body ran amok through their lines.

He sliced the head off of the nearest soldier and then grabbed his ally, lifting him up in the air by his throat.

Before he could squeeze and kill the man, he noticed that it was silent. Dead silent. His motion tracker didn't indicate any targets; it was empty.

He looked around the area, noticing the more than hundred corpses littering the area. All the soldiers were dead and the man whose larynx he was about to crush was the only soldier still alive.

He repressed the urge to kill him too and took a few deep breaths, calming himself. Sometimes, while in such close-quarters, he would lose himself in the fight in a different way than when he was operating a firearm. He would get increasingly aggressive, which –despite making his body more resilient and faster- was generally a bad thing. He was a very disciplined soldier; nothing got to him like it would get to normal marines. It was part of being a Spartan…yet every now and then, once in every ten melee conflicts, he would lose his calm.

This was such a conflict. He had been lucky to regain control over himself, as he would have killed the one person who could give him some Intel on what the hell was going on. Sloppy. Very sloppy.

The man was blubbering incoherently, unable to form complete sentences. The Spartan understood why that was. As the last bits of Adrenaline in his system faded away, he realized that the red coating on his normally dark-gray armour was in fact blood. The army stationed in these hills had consisted of roughly one-hundred fifty men. Twenty had gotten away, ten had attempted to surrender.

Including this man, it meant twenty survivors. "Who are you people!" Ha snapped at the man.

"P-please! Oh by the gods d-don't kill me! Oh god p-please!"

"Who. Are. You."

"I…I…I…am a swords-man in the i-imperial a-a-army…serving y-your majesty t-the King G-Galbatorix"

They served a king? "Why were you looking for me?"

"I-I don't know! Y-you were s-said to be a-a –an enemy of the e-empire…"

An empire ruled by a king. The UNSC had been attacked by an empire…and he was stuck in the middle of it."

"Where am I?"

"S-south of U-Uru'baen…"

He sighed, understanding that he was in a bad position. If he had just robbed the capital of an empire, before slaughtering the force that had been sent to deal with him, it would be the same as being stuck behind rebel lines. Killing everyone he encountered would become the norm.

And then there was the case of those strange, superpowered humans. "Who were those cloaked men?" He asked the captured soldier, gesturing to the mangled form of the black-garbed hostile.

"I-Imperial s-spellcasters s-sir!" The man told him. "P-please s-spare me sir!"

He lowered the body of the imperial soldier, grabbed with both hands and snapped his neck. The lifeless body slammed to the floor and he sighed in frustration.

Spellcasters? Seriously? Magic? That man had been messing with him.

He let his gaze run over the many dozens of bodies and he concluded that it would be better to avoid these patrols altogether. If he left a trail of destruction everywhere he went, he might as well not try to run at all.

The Spartan oriented himself towards the south and kept moving, still ignoring the faint trembling in his pouch. The miles faded away underneath his steady march and the hours crept by, signaled only by the soldier's steady breathing and rhythmic pounding of his heavy boots against the ground. The sun slowly descended, shrouding the land in more and more darkness until it had finally disappeared altogether –and the Spartan had reached a small forest.

Secret-Spartan-007 had been marching for many hours when he finally reached the forest, after having moved over a dozen hills, spread apart by dozens of miles. The soldier didn't know how much distance he had covered since moving away from the capital, but he did know his average marching-speed. The terrain had been uneven, but not difficult to cross. For eight hours he had moved and the average Spartan could easily reach more than fifty miles in eight hours…so he had crossed more than fifty miles in that day alone. During those movements, he had run into enemy patrols at least six times. He had evaded those soldiers on all but one occasion, during which he had ambushed a group of eight horse riders. He had left one soldier alive for a while, interrogating him to learn more.

Apparently, the continent where the UNSC had landed was called Alagaesia. He had learnt of the King, Galbatorix, fighting a war against a group of rebels called the Varden. But once the soldier had started to talk about elves in the forest of Du Weldenvarden and dwarves in the Beor Mountains, he had killed him. Why did these people think him to be mentally impaired? There was no such thing as magic and Elves and dwarves didn't exist.

But it was curious…very much so. This was a medieval setting and the soldiers couldn't have been communicating with each other over such distances. The men hadn't been looking for him when he ambushed them, so they couldn't have known about him. And when a heavily armoured, blood-smeared figure asked you for details, you didn't answer him with a sarcastic joke. No, both soldiers he had interrogated had been terrified, yet both of them had given him a similar answer. Magic…that didn't exist. But he had seen the methods those strange men had used when trying to kill him –the almost invisible strikes that had hit him and drained his shielding. There was someone behind all of this; someone who had brainwashed these people into thinking they were medieval, while at the same time messing with their bodies to allow for superhuman abilities. And if he were to guess, that person was named "Galbatorix", as that man was the king.

It wouldn't do him any good to keep on guessing about these things. It was obvious that these rebels had been testing with drugs…and he knew all too well what that could do to a normal human population. He would have to avoid all men, women and children in this country…lest her run into the same thing he had as five years ago.

He shook his head, forcing the rising memories away. He should really keep moving and find the Pelican dropship…even though he hadn't found it after eight hours of nonstop moving. The chances that he was going to find Captain Wren and his crew alive were very slim…and so were his chances at returning to the Frigate in geosynchronous orbit. The crew of the _When Duty Ends_ had messed up in their decisions and now he had to fix it all.

He stopped near a small river, his rifle at the ready and his senses tense. His motion tracker was showing him all kinds of contacts, but most of those had to be indigenous lifeforms. The soldiers couldn't have tracked him there, as he had moved too fast for them to follow. No, in the dark and wet forest, he was alone.

The last time he had had sustenance was approximately three hours before the Frigate would have arrived at 011's location. After that, they had spent at least two hours in slipspace before arriving at this planet. So it had been thirteen hours since he had last had something to drink and eat.

He could still go another forty hours, but now that he had water it would be a smart thing to use it.

He knelt down next to the river, brought his hands to his helmet, thought better of it and stood up again. He held no desire to take his helmet off, especially not in such a hostile environment. For all he knew, there could be someone with a sniper rifle aiming at him at that very moment. He would wait until he was in the definite clear before feeding himself.

But it was dark and he wanted to use the brief break in his pace to investigate a bit further. Of course there wouldn't be someone with a sniper aiming at him; he had made sure that he was alone in the forest.

The Spartan opened the pouch containing the gem and grabbed the jewel, being very careful not to damage it in the process.

The gem looked odd…weirdly shimmering, like a ripple in a calm pond, but still as smooth as the hull of a Covenant vehicle. He had felt the nonsensical desire to touch it…to run the bare skin of his hand across the surface of the gem. There was no reason for him to do something silly like that, but the desire was there.

The stone…it had been vibrating a bit when he had been fighting those soldiers. What could have caused that?

His HUD didn't signal any strange radiation warnings, neither could he discern anything else that might render it harmful. So what was it?

He slowly ran a finger down the gem, seeing if anything happened. Perhaps it was a gem that could change its facets, or it could be one of those dangerous Forerunner crystals, or perhaps it-

The Spartan dropped the gem and it landed in the wet leaves.

-it moved.

The gem had shaken on its own, without him forcing it to. Was that the trembling he had felt? The gem shaking? What sort of artefact was this thing?

He grabbed his combat knife and slowly tried to scrape the surface with the point.

Nothing happened. He couldn't damage the outer shell of the gem with his high-grade knife…that was a bad thing. At one point during his life, he had managed to create a scrape at the surface of the shield of a Hunter –shortly before said Hunter had pummeled his shielding down and knocked him through the wall of a building. But still, the fact that this gem was stronger than starship-grade alloy was…unnerving.

He grabbed the jewel and held it closer to his visor. The material didn't reflect his image at all…and was he imagining it, or did he hear soft…squealing noises? Yes, yes he did: it was a definite sort of squeaking. How strange…this material was exhibiting some serious anomalous properties. He should-

The gemstone shook heavily on his outstretched palm, rocketing against his fingers.

He felt the need to tighten his grip and crush the jewel, but he was unable to. Something in his mind held him back…it was if his training, the one thing that dictated his actions, prohibited him from doing what he felt like doing. It had always served some use in his life, but now…he didn't know what was going on.

A line appeared on the surface of the black gem; it resembled a crack, running in one direction before suddenly breaking off to another one. Had the prolonged human contact damaged it? Couldn't be; he was wearing armour.

Another crack appeared in the surface, then another.

Before he knew what was going on, the surfacing lines touched each other and formed a sloppy square. He was just about to try and take another attempt at scratching the surface when something surfaced from the shell.

He raised an eyebrow when he saw what had happened to gem –which should be reclassified as an egg. He had somehow managed to steal a black egg from the city instead of a valuable gem. It raised the question of why this…Galbatorix… had been trying to defend the egg so thoroughly. There wasn't a being alive that could come up with a plan to stop a Secret-Spartan, but still. Galby had been quite…obvious in his desire to keep the egg safe.

Why?

The head that peeked out from underneath the shell looked…awfully alien. He immediately felt the desire to kill it, but he suppressed that too. This thing might even be used as a bargaining chip.

The creature squiggled its way out of the shell with odd, unbalanced movements. It had a strange, angular body that was covered with black scales –as black as the egg had been, he realized. It possessed four limbs and a pair of wings, which spanned several times its body. The wings were ridged with thin, bony fingers that extended from the wing's front edge, resembling talons. The tiny reptile –for it was undoubtedly a reptile- wasn't much longer than two feet, ranging from the tip of its triangular snout to the tip of its long, flexible tail.

'_Don't let this thing be called a dragon…' _The Spartan thought and he knelt next to the reptilian creature. The people of…Alagaesia…had to worship these things, otherwise it wouldn't have been kept so secured. It must be part of some indigenous race of crocodilians, but only…with wings…a Komodo dragon, a poisonous creature native to earth, perhaps?

He had no clue as to what the thing was, but it obviously wasn't avian. It had ridges of bony protrusions running down its spine, from the base of its skull to an absence on its shoulders, all the way to the end of its tail.

It looked like a predator alright, white shining white talons and teeth. The Spartan kept perfectly still, having no clue as to what this thing was and what to do at that moment. He watched as the draconic creature slowly turned around and then focused on his visor, staring at him with its sharp, yellow eyes.

As soon as the creature looked him in his eyes, he felt something weird. Like…a ripple in his mind, similar to what he had felt before. Only it was stronger this time, overcoming the natural thoughts he had until only one desire remained in his head, like a feverish obsession.

It wasn't something he couldn't overcome within a micro-second, but it was very strange. It was almost like this creature somehow managed to send signals to his neural interface to cause such feelings.

It was completely impossible of course, but still.

He wanted to touch the creature, see what that would do. It was the most basic need he felt in his mind, just like he had felt the desire to touch the gem itself. It might be pheromones influencing him, as some animals used smells and other signals to lure their prey…before devouring them.

This was a bad idea. A really bad idea. And while he slowly took his right gauntlet off, placing the combat knife into his left one, he silently berated himself for actually executing it.

The reptile stared at him with its sharp, penetrating eyes while he worked his gauntlet off. Eventually, he had bared his hand and placed his gauntlet on the ground.

The super-soldier frowned as he beheld the deep paleness of his skin, caused by years of encasement within his MJOLNIR. He liked being in his armour; it protected him against more than just physical damage. Within it, he was safe. Without it, he was naked. He hated having to remove a part of something that was as much a part of him as his own mind was, but he couldn't help it. Something compelled him to do so…and if he was right…his situation would be worse off than he had expected

He brought his hand down to the animal, ignoring its pitiful attempts to smell at his fingers. He touched the reptilian on its head –and immediately felt an extreme surge of activity prickling his hand, extending itself throughout his arm while overstimulating each and every nerve, vein and tendon in his limb. It wasn't very pleasant. A bright, white flash blinded his eyes and he sharply inhaled when he felt a burning sensation spread itself throughout his entire body. The intense coldness of it all was unlike anything he had felt before; it left a great emptiness behind in its wake, like he had just been chained up and sentenced to prison. The sensation was completely new to him and he instinctively jerked away, moving his leg backward to prevent himself from falling over.

The white flash disappeared, leaving blinded for only a few more seconds before his sensitive eyes adapted to the dark environment once more. A brief shimmer flowed across the surface of his mind, quickly extending itself, extrapolating itself around his awareness. The sensation was strange…almost like something tried to force itself into his mind.

The tiny reptile yelped all of a sudden, sinking through its clawed legs and falling into a small heap, where it stayed.

The contact on his mind tore away, leaving alone in his head.

But something else was there now, a feverish trembling that quickly filled in the emptiness left behind by the brief contact. He exhaled and groaned when the sickening pulses hemorrhaged through his entire body, reaching towards his very core before they faded away from the outside.

The soldier checked his suit's internal temperature, made sure that he wasn't being surrendered and then took the time to search his hand for any wounds. He had been poisoned, that was the only possible explanation. This creature was a venomous reptile and he should kill it, important or not.

But there wasn't anything on his hand that signaled skin-damage. What was there however, was a white and shimmering scar. It had the shape of a damaged opal…and it itched considerably. Only…it wasn't a scar. It didn't look natural, but it wasn't damage. It didn't feel wrong in any way, it…was just there.

He snatched his gauntlet off of the ground and slapped it on again, taking great care to enact the proper procedure and integrate it with the rest of his suit.

After reattaching the gauntlet to his right hand, the Spartan took another look at the dragon-thing. It was still lying on the floor, motionless. It was almost as if it had burned off all its energy in an attempt to chase him away.

He frowned, not understanding why he had ever taken his gauntlet off. He might have been poisoned through the skin contact with the animal, which was probably meant to serve as a biological weapon. But that didn't explain what he had felt against his mind…and it also didn't explain why the creature had almost looked like it had wanted him to touch it.

He should leave the creature behind and move on…he still had a long ways to go to reach the UNSC and he didn't have the time or patience to haul an obviously dangerous animal with him.

Looking down at the creature again, he noticed that it was kicking with its legs. Its mouth was hanging open in a silent scream and a small circle of smoke escaped its nostrils.

He froze when he saw the black smoke appear, immediately linking it with one word.

'_Dragon,'_ He thought, '_It's a dragon.'_

But that was impossible! Dragon's didn't exist and neither did magic. It was so obvious, someone was trying to make a world reminiscent of a classic medieval story. Magic…dragons…all so pathetic. It didn't explain how that person had possibly created something that was so realistically draconic, but still. This had to be a mistake…all of it. He couldn't possibly be stuck on some backwater planet in the presence of a poisonous dragon.

He sighed, realizing what needed to be done. He needed to ask someone for assistance…he needed to know about the viability of a dragon being real.

Unless…every Spartan had had physics in the past. Was there a chance that on some planet, there had really been an evolutionary process resulting in dragons? Or had the Forerunners, in their ancient desire to meddle and experiment, creating them?

He needed more answers, and until he had them he couldn't judge. And this creature had obviously been important to his enemy. No, he couldn't kill it. He would take it with him and perhaps travel to the Varden, to see if they might offer him assistance.

He scooped the little, black dragon up from the ground –it offered no resistance despite the fact that it had attempted to harm him. Well…it hadn't actually penetrated his skin or drawn any blood. It had simply allowed him to touch it.

With the small reptile in his arms, he started moving again. It didn't take him very long to exit the forest and travel towards the next place of interest. He had his eyes set on a small city south of the forest, one he had spotted when he had been standing on top of another, especially large hill. Only with the magnification on his visor set to the most extreme range did he see what was moving around the town.

More soldiers in red was what was moving around the town.

The Spartan started making his way down the slope, leaving the small forest far behind him. In the thirty minutes he had spent making his way from the place of hatching and the hill he was standing on at the moment, the little dragon had recovered and started to exhibit a large amount of animal behaviour.

It had started to growl, twist and trash around in his arms, trying to escape his grasp.

"Easy," He told the thing, still not knowing why the creature had been able to force such major biological effects onto him. Every now and then something touched his mind, trying to break through…something that was _on_ his mind. It was as if some external instinct was attempting to get through to him, telling him things.

Of course, such an experience could be explained by all kinds of things. Hallucinations brought upon by the might-be poison of the dragon…some other, external source that might be influencing his sanity in some way or the other.

But…he didn't really think it was anything like that. He had felt the "experience" only after the brief and explosive contact with the little animal, leading him to think that it might be the diminutive reptile that had sought contact with his mind.

It HAD been a sense of hunger that he had been feeling in the back of his mind…it could be explained as the creature somehow having tapped into his neural interface, sending him signals to allow him to understand what it wanted. That could easily explain it to be the apex predator on this world, referred by the primitive humans. The question was…just what did it want?

This whole thing was a bit strange. He knew that his own body was intimately linked with his suit; his thoughts were all converted into signals for the MJOLNIR to undertake. If he thought of a movement, the suit performed it. Things didn't just interfere with it, that just didn't happen. Whatever he was feeling had to be something exerted on his mind and his mind alone…or it was so incredibly powerful that it COULD interfere with his neural interface, in which case he was in really deep trouble. But…the sensations hadn't been as strong as to actually make him do anything. They were just there…like a dropship trying to enter a sealed Carrier.

The dragon crawled to the top of his helmet and curled its long, slender tail around his neck-seal. Had the creature not been so playful with its movements, he might thought of its actions as hostile.

But the dragon-thing hadn't openly been hostile to him.

The Spartan reached the bottom of the hill and swept his recently re-equipped assault rifle through the bushes, checking for potential scouts searching for him.

The soldier didn't see any humans. What he _did_ see was a deer, suddenly looking up and sprinting away. The movement was enough to make him drop to a crouch and remove the safety of his weapon, but once he had identified the target as nonhostile and herbivorous, he eased up.

The presence on top of his mind did not. He felt another, vague tendril slapping against what he liked to think of as his Carrier; his mind was the armoured ship, impenetrable. The presence –which had to be the dragon- was the Pelican dropship attempting to enter. He could touch, but it couldn't get through.

And the tendril only had thing it wanted to tell him: that the dragon was hungry.

Being ambushed by ancient alien robots, sent through another dimension into a world with biologically altered humans and here he was, stuck with a hungry dragon.

But…if this creature was capable of interfering with his Neural interface or worse, capable of telepathic signals, he needed to be very careful. It might grow unstable when it saw too much.

He kept walking for another hour, during which he almost reached the village he had seen. He just had to move through another series of forests before he could get to civilization. It was a smaller wooded area, not much longer or wider than a kilometer. The geology of this land seemed to vary greatly; he had seen large mountains, yet the entire distance between Uru'baen and the forest he currently found himself in had mostly been bare. Large, wide open plains, forests and the like.

A sudden signal on his motion tracker caught his attention and he brought his rifle to bear. The dragon perched on his head grew uneasy and started to squeal loudly, scratching against his dark helmet with its tiny claws.

His motion tracker only identified UNSC signals as his allies, while only identifying Covenant signals as his targets. Everything else appeared like grey circles on the scanner, ranging from small dots to large blips.

And three circles were currently moving towards him, faster than humans could.

The Spartan flicked his safety off and readied his rifle, waiting for the hostiles to show themselves. The dragon was scrambling like mad to stay on top of his head, not realizing that its own frantic movements were causing it to lose his balance in the first place.

The howling of wolves tore through the night and he relaxed. The dragon –which might have imprinted him as his mother, he came to realize- got even more scared if that was possible. It jumped off of his head and touched down on the ground, but it slipped in a patch of grass and fell flat on its stomach.

"Bad idea," He told the dragon, but then the wolves were upon them. There were three of them, large grey and vicious. They seemed larger than the ones in his memory, but he had never really seen a wolf in real life before, so…

The dragon screeched with terror and the first wolf lunged for it, intent on tearing it apart with its blinkering teeth-

-only to receive a crushing kick to its head, cracking its skull and killing it in one hit. The lifeless corpse sailed through the air and impacted on a tree, where it slid down and landed on the ground in a worthless heap.

He wanted to refrain from firing his weapon this close to the city and neither did he want to waste munition on wild animals.

The second wolf jumped at him this time. Its scrambling paws allowed it to pick up an impressive pace before it jumped at the Spartan. However, the wolf's head proved to have a critical weakness to blades being shoved through it. The soldier lashed out with his combat knife and jammed it into the canine's skull, earning his second kill that night.

The Spartan then pulled his knife out, spun around and instinctively brought an arm up to defend himself, as the last wolf had chosen that moment to ignore the deaths of its packmates and continue the hunt.

Its jaws were lined with razor-sharp teeth; canines intent on penetrating and molars intent on cutting and crushing. He had learned that wolfs were capable of crushing bones with a well-placed bite…however, that didn't seem to go with MJOLNIR armour. The soldier allowed the beast to impact on his body, watching as it broke its teeth off on the grey arm.

Then, he grabbed the neck of the hound with his other hand and squeezed. The wolf whined and thrashed until he felt its bone snap in a sickening crunch, at which point the wolf gave one more spasm before it died.

He threw the dead carcass to the ground, shaking his head. Wasted time and wasted energy were never positive things. And tomorrow-morning, hunters would find the bodies of three killed wolves, one of which had a set of broken teeth. If that didn't serve as a trail for the experienced tracker, he didn't know what did.

The terrified dragon leaped up to meet his face, flapping twice with its wings to allow it to remain airborne for a bit longer. The annoying presence on his mind fluctuated; now there was a secondary trait added to the first one. Instead of just 'hunger', he now felt 'relieve' too. The signal was definitely coming from the reptile, it was somehow touching his consciousness with its own mind.

But he hadn't missed the intent behind the signal, oh no. This thing was hungry.

"Five minutes," He told the dragon, feeling stupid for talking to an animal. The stupid beast was still clinging to his visor, scratching his helmet with its claws in an attempt to gain some height. How did that communication work again? Through the mind? Well, he had no idea how to do that and quite frankly, he didn't care. He wanted to find the Pelican dropship, save the captain and his crew if possible, find a way back to the _When Duty Ends_ and repair it. Then he wanted to call for UNSC reinforcements and find out just what was wrong with this world…with these people.

He was losing his patience very fast. He closed his eyes and focused on the little annoying blimp that was attached to his mind: the dragon's consciousness. Doing so was akin to him opening the hangar bay, floating out of the carrier, closing the bays again and moving on to the dragon's mind. Then, he cooked up the perfect educational message: '_Eat or starve.'_

The dragon lowered its front-paws, pulled its head away from his visor and stared at him with those deep, surprisingly intelligent eyes.

He stared right back at it, aware of the fact that it was only an animal that couldn't understand him.

But then, much to his surprise, the dragon released him and moved towards the broken body of the first wolf, the one who had attacked her.

It turned its neck and looked at him again.

He held up five fingers and marched past her, trying to determine where he had been heading before the unfortunate timing of the wolves.

A loud, tearing noise behind him indicated that the little abomination had indeed gotten the message. Curious. So it was more intelligent than he had thought it to be-

-he turned around, his rifle aimed at the petite back of the reptile. He had concentrated on a message…in HIS language. Near HIS mind. So how had the dragon understood him? It didn't make sense…unless the dragon was telepathic. And if the dragon was telepathic –for whatever bizarre biological reason- it meant that his own thoughts weren't secure.

He watched the reptile tear at the body of the wolf, ripping through its flesh with ease as the razor-sharp teeth tore deep into the carcass. The thing had a strong jawline, he had to give it that.

If the dragon was intelligent enough to understand his language…to understand _him_…it meant a human-level consciousness. As such, this creature would be truly important to the UNSC. He needed it alive.

He waited for exactly five minutes for the animal to finish before he grabbed hold of it and pried it away from its meal. It was such a tiny thing, not much larger than a cat. Why did it have such an appetite? Where did all that meat go?

Unless it was going to have a growing-spurt…dragons tended to be very large in human lore.

He sighed, wishing he had more information. There were two options: either this world was a true medieval one possibly made by the Forerunners, or this world was a rebel base where the leaders were playing an excessively filthy game. He didn't hold it above them, that was for damn sure.

With the dragon in tow, he made his way to the village. The Spartan and the dragon stopped, however, when the former suddenly thought of something.

'_They won't help if I show up there,'_ He realized. He had murdered his way past more than a hundred imperial men that day alone, stealing their national treasure in the meantime. Whichever method these people used to send messages –if it even was anything else than a radar system- had to be very fast. The men searching for him had known who he was and where he was going…so if he was to risk entering the village, he would need to leave the dragon behind briefly.

He was going to hunt for some information.

The soldier slowly opened the steel walls around his mind again, allowed a thought of his to slip out and then searched for what he had determined to be the dragon's consciousness. '_Stay here,'_ He told the beast.

The tendril of thoughts that the animal extended in return was clear. _Curiosity._

It wanted to know where he was going –the thing was actually aware of the things that happened around it.

'_Information,´_ he then told it and looked for a sufficiently tall tree where it could stay, safe from other predators looking for it. The blood it had spilled that night was bound to attract other predators.

He looked around, before noticing a particularly large one. It reached easily taller than twenty meters /and it was climbable for him. He hoped.

He looked at a large branch and grabbed the dragon by its back, lifting it in the air with ease. ´_Safe,´_ he told it.

The dragon didn't respond, but neither did it fight against his grip. It allowed itself to be lifted in the air by his ice-cold gauntlets, giving the soldier more than enough chance to fling it high up the tree. It flapped with its wings in an undignified manner, not having expected to be thrown up there.

It quickly jumped up another branch and then turned around, extending its long neck towards him and glaring at him.

The Spartan almost thought that the creature had a mildly amused look on its face.

He marked the tree with his knife and then moved out of the forest, making his way to the city. It was encircled by a wall, with the occasional guard patrolling over its edge. He needed one of those guards; they were bound to know something.

The Spartan moved like a shadows creeping over the grasslands, graceful as water and fast like a bird. No man ever spotted him and within a few seconds, he had made his way to the base of the wall.

It was a meter of five high, but nothing he couldn't handle.

The super-soldier braced himself and then jumped, the force-enhancing circuits in his MJOLNIR extending the height he could reach by a full two meters. His fingers wrapped themselves around the edge and he pulled himself up, sticking his head over the dark wall. The night was dark and the wind was loud ,masking each and every sign that someone was possibly infiltrating the city.

After a minute of him hanging there, one of the guards moved closer in his patrol, walking right in front of him.

He shot out with his left arm, grabbing the tunic of the man's back and pulling him right over the edge. He needed the man alive, so he couldn't just throw him to the ground. The guard might break his legs and the screaming would wake every single man, woman and child in the city.

So he broke his fall, slowing himself by jamming his armoured hand into the wall, keeping his other hand over the man's mouth to prevent him from screaming.

With the guard secured in his grasp, he retreated back into the forest. If the man decided to be stupid and scream, nobody would hear him.

The Spartan dumped the body of the unfortunate male onto the ground and pulled out his knife, pointing it as his target's face.

"Scream and you're dead," He snapped at the man, taking notice of the gray hair and beard adorning his head. This man was easily older than sixty years...and looked rather familiar.

He didn't give his memories the chance to surface and focused on what needed to be done. The guard seemed to understand his order, as he did not scream.

"Who in the blazes are you?" The man asked.

"I need answers," He told the old guy. "I'm not from around."

The prisoner looked around warily, taking in the cold and dark environment. "Answers you couldn't get over some mead and a few coins?"

The Spartan ignored that. "You with Galbatorix?"

The man scoffed. "I protect the city of Furnost I do! It might be part of the empire, but I serve my lady."

"Your lady?"

The man sighed. "Where are you from kid-"

He grabbed the man by the front of his clothes and jammed the knife against his throat, putting a slight pressure on the blade. "Don't. Only talk when I ask you."

The man nervously eyed the black steel pressed against his throat, but his eyes quickly shot back up to the dark-gray helmet in front of him. "A-alright then…no need for violence."

He withdrew his knife and waited for the man to finish.

"The lady Tarana…is my liegelord. She rules the city of Furnost with a gentle hand…and the men are loyal to her, not to the King."

"Are you people rebels?"

The man stared at him, an incredulous expression on his face. "I just…I just told you that I serve the city of Fur-"

"I got that."

The Spartan sighed, understanding that his situation was very difficult. "Where did you people come from, in this…Alagaesia?"

The man laughed, sounding like an old crow. "You must truly be from somewhere else. Our people came from overseas, thousands of years ago. Ol' Palancar the mad, we called the one who led us here. Vanquished by the elves he was, three times. Then, his son took his life…and humans knew peace. Didn't take long-"

He disregarded the need to rip the man's head off and interrupted him. "Lie to me again and I will cut your fingers off. Elves?"

His threat had hit home alright; the man opened his mouth to say something, but thought better and quickly closed it. Then he opened his mouth and gasped for air. Closed his mouth again. Eventually…"I want to answer you…heavens know I do…but I don't know what you know. You might see my answers as lies if you have never encountered the before, please…just…keep an open mind."

He sighed, understanding what the old guy meant. If one of these people had captured a marine on Earth and demanded to know what the things around him were, that man or woman wouldn't believe the marine either. If this man spoke the truth, these people weren't Insurrectionists. And that would make his troubles only bigger.

"I come from the stars," He cautiously told the senior. "Now tell me, where-"

The man gasped again and crawled backwards, looking more scared than he had looked when faced with the concept of death. His eyes seemed to bulge out of his head and he grew very pale. "The Prophecy is true! The traveler from the stars, here! Please, just…show mercy! I will answer your questions but…please have mercy!"

The Spartan didn't know of any prophecy, but he wanted answers more than he wanted to interrupt the man. "Good. Elves?"

"Yes lord-"

Lord?

"-in the forests to the north, the forests of Du Weldenvarden!"

He sighed, seeing that he had traveled to the wrong side of the country. No matter. "Why do people talk of magic?"

"Yes, magic! Elves can use it, dragons could use it and there are humans who can use it!"

"What is magic?"

"Magic…it is the force allows one to manipulate energy with _your mind!_"

Did that last part needed to be whispered so dramatically? "What do you know of dragons?"

"Lord, I cannot tell you too much…if the king would hear me, he would chop my head right off!"

Even though the old guard spoke like he couldn't say anything, his excited demeanor still indicated that he did want to talk about it. He had shifted from fear to surprise to mortal fear and then…an almost religious agitation. It was very strange…but the man was a goldmine of Intel.

"Why would the king do that?"

"Because people say he was responsible for the fall of the Riders."

"The Riders?"

The man nodded, looking increasingly nervous. "Legend has it that the elves had a magical pact with the dragons…forming a group of peacekeepers called the Dragon Riders. Soon, the humans joined in the pact. Legend has it that Galbatorix was a Rider, before he destroyed their order and formed the Empire."

"Dragons?"

"The rumors differ lord! Some say that dragons are all but extinct, others say that they have never existed. Legends is all that remains…and I don't know more of it. I am deeply sorry."

His fear was gone now. There was only the almost feverish awe that lined his intonation…an awe that might have originated from the Spartan's blood-smeared armour, frightening appearance or otherwise unworldly presence. Or perhaps it was due to the content of this…Prophecy…the man talked about.

"What do you know of dragons?"

"Nothing sir, nothing that aren't there in the legends. They could breathe fire…change the world at their whim. They were said to be more intelligent than men or dwarves!"

…dwarves?

"Where do these…dwarves…live?"

"In the Beor Mountains, to the south. Rumor has it…" The man's voice dropped to a whisper, "…that the Varden is hiding somewhere in the Beor Mountains. I don't know anything about you Lord, and please don't tell me more. But I ask of you the following: if I tell you how to reach the Beor Mountains, will you reconsider?"

Whatever. "No promises."

"Is all I need. Travel south, alongside the edge of the Tüdosten Lake. Then, you will find a city called Petrovya. Head east from there."

He got to his feet, rising in his full seven feet of MJOLNIR-clad height. He had a dilemma now. "Why are you helping me?"

"There are many evils at work in our Alagaesia, lord. Urgals…spies and murder. If you truly came from the stars…and someone were to show you kindness…you might reconsider."

'_Reconsider what?'_ The Spartan thought to himself. Even if this man were to show him kindness –which he didn't, he only told him useful information- it wouldn't take his foremost problem away. This man had seen him; a stranger clad in armour, asking dangerous questions. If this old man survived, he would spread the word and soon, every city would know about him. He couldn't have that –he would have to kill this man.

On the other hand…it wasn't as if he would blend in otherwise. He did not know how to act inconspicuous in a crowd –and his armour didn't make it easier on him. The only way for him to truly infiltrate the society was to take his armour off. And he would never do that. Whether this man survived or not…he wouldn't be able to blend in in the empire of Galbatorix. He would need to find the…Varden…in the Beor Mountains. They fought the empire from what he had gathered –they would give him all the Intel he needed. The easy way or the hard way.

Regardless, this man was a threat. He had been plucked from the city and he would be missed. He could not be left alive. Not now…he knew his duty. He couldn't get compromised.

He reached out and grabbed the prone man, lifting him in the air and turning him around. Then, the super-soldier snaked his arm around the senior's throat and placed his other hand in front of his mouth, to prevent him from screaming.

The man's face…it had been so familiar. And he knew why it had looked familiar. This entire world reminded him of it…

He pulled tighter, ignoring the man's frantic spasms and jerking. He counted down from four to zero once the body had stopped moving and then let it go.

The Spartan moved to the tree where he had hidden his dragon, seeking its mind out while positioning himself on the thickest branch. Placing the motionless body on two moderately sturdy branches, he told the dragon that they were going to keep moving.

And as the winged creature –said to be capable of feats like magic and above-human intelligence- flew towards him, he gave the body of the guard –whom he had strangled into unconsciousness- no more thought.

He had a mission to complete: first the Varden, then Wren and then the UNSC.

And then he would see what to do with the dragon.

~0~

"_The project is a success. Thirteen Spartans- that is, Secret-Spartans, are fully functional and working at full capacity. After five years of service, there has been not a single casualty. And some of their missions had odds that stood as pronounced as 1 to 10!"_

"_But?"_

_Seeing as we started the project at an average age of four years old…our indoctrination procedures were very thorough. They are soldiers all right- but that is it. Operatives that can only function as long as they are send on missions and battles- we have been able to glean off some details about their individual personality's ma'am. I will send you the reports this evening."_

"_See to it that you will, Colonel."_

Conversation between Colonel Ackerson and Admiral Parangosky.

~0~


	3. The virtue of patience

_Damn, this story is gaining more attention than my previous stories combined at this length. Let's keep going strong guys!_

_**Jcraft596: **__Ah, I see. Well, thanks for the compliments. I am afraid that I cannot earn money off of a fanfiction so far as I am aware, so I do not have a donation page._

_**Dracologistmaster: **__depending on the circumstances, with violence. Or more violence. _

_**Lay Down Hunter: **__ Yep, our Spartan's mind slipped for a moment there. Not his fault, someone put a dragon in his way. I think that this soldier will be awesome in his own way, as long as he can control himself that is. _

_**ILikedabubbles: **__I chuckled at that name, sorry. _

_**Siphon 117: **__Thanks_

_**Sierra110: **__All Spartan-personnel receive extensive knowledge on how to make field-repairs on their equipment. While they cannot remove the more complicated pieces like the chest-plate or leg-armour, they can remove other things like the helmet, gauntlets and smaller pieces._

_**Oghma Infinium: **__More encouragement I do not need :D_

_**The Blue Tigrex:**__ True, but I hope I can make part two live up to part one._

_**Tuutje07: **__Sure you can. And that's where my style comes in: I do not like black-and-white morality issues, like those performed in Eragon. I like to make things complicated…like our Spartan performing things that are usually reserved for the bad guys._

_Thanks for the compliments, anyway. That moment of hills and bare is because the Spartan does not consider the environment as harsh. No mountains, lakes or rock-plateaus and no cliffs. Therefore, even though there are still hills and trees, it is bare._

_Also, long reviews are awesome. Keep making them._

_**SPARTAN-262: **__I Yep. That scene was a bit…hard…to make, as the plot wouldn't go anywhere worth a damn without a bit of hand-nakedness. _

_Our lovely 007's mind slipped (and I mean my hand did) when he thought of the dragon. He is not too sure yet._

_Or is he?_

_**The reviewer: **__I hope so too. However, Math would have performed the kill._

_**Water Guardian 26: **__Thanks, I feel honored. _

_**Guest: **__Oh yes, he is. As for romance…there are higher chances at romance happening here than in the other fiction .That I can say. Otherwise: spoilers :p_

~0~

"_You must find the one responsible for this…and bring him back. Alive. Employ the heightened drug…it was effective enough to incapacitate the elf."_

"_I have gleamed off a small portion of his mind...a segment devoted to survival skills. Even though the defenses around his were crudely effective, I have still found a way to intoxicate him."_

"_Make it happen Raia."_

"_Thy will be done."_

Conversation between "Shade" designated 'Raia' and unnamed individual, 14 hours after UNSC asset SS-007 infiltration of Uru'baen.

~0~

The stone and wooden city of Furnost, as the guardsman had described, was larger than he had initially thought. There were up to fifty houses and other buildings spread around its walls and in the center stood a large castle, towering over all the other structures. Even though these cities were clearly built to resemble a medieval style, they were larger than he had expected. And there were plenty of patrols, too. Everywhere he looked were the red-clad shapes of imperial soldiers…and he had no intention of clashing with them again.

The Spartan wanted to stick as close to the city as possible without being spotted, as every encounter with his enemy would be an encounter he could learn from. But he didn't want to be seen, as that meant he would have to engage the entire city. That wasn't an enticing thought –the violence would probably attract every soldier in a ten-mile radius. And seeing as this empire had the capability to send information faster than he could march, he would run into more and more soldiers to the point he would be forced to use his weapons.

He did not want that, so he kept his head low and kept moving. It was still dark and the few kilometers he could clearly see in front of him, were all as flat as possible. The occasional hill elevated the landscape at times, but most of it was devoid of cover. Approximately thirty kilometers ahead, close to the giant lake, was a large forest.

With the dragon in tow, he moved past the small hills that lay in his path. The guard had been right; there really was a large lake to the east of the city. So there was a possibility that the man had also been truthful about other things. The problem was that, while he could easily cross the remaining distance between the city and the large forest that lay ahead underwater, he still had a scaled appendage that did not have the capability of breathing underwater.

He had an hour of oxygen in reserves, while the dragon had just left its egg. And it probably couldn't hold its breath very long, so the idea of traveling via water was already compromised. As such, they were taking the western, more scenic route.

The Spartan and the dragon had been moving for an additional hour, easily crossing another fifteen kilometers without being spotted, before the soldier suddenly felt another strange jab at the corner of his mind. He turned around as soon as he recognized it, feeling frustrated.

"Again?" He asked the dragon. He had felt the same tendril of thoughts that had indicated its hunger once before, right when the wolves had attacked him.

The black creature –for he still didn't know for sure whether it was a male or a female- had been alternating between wildly flapping its wings to fly after him and sitting on his shoulder or helmet. Sometimes he got the impression that it was a male and sometimes he got the impression that it was a female. But what he did know for sure was that the dragon was hungry once again.

It hadn't even been two hours after its last dinner.

The black reptile shrieked softly and swept its tail softly against his visor. What could he get it to eat? He could find some native animals for it to hunt and kill…or he could find out whether the dragon ate humans or not.

No. When he would be forced to crank his guerilla warfare up to eleven and times turned lean, the dragon could eat humans. Desperate times called for desperate tactics –and he rarely ever felt desperate.

He looked around carefully, eyeing the hills around him. He still had a long way to go until he reached the forest and he didn't want to waste any time. The creature could eat when he had reached the cover of the treeline and not a moment sooner.

The little consciousness kept brushing against his mind, attempting to get his attention. But the Spartan knew what the dragon wanted and he didn't care. He had way better things to do; like finding the crashed Captain Wren and his crew. They were stuck in the middle of a hostile empire that was in possession of strange abilities. If he didn't get somewhere soon, he was going to lose more than just valuable time.

In the end, the super-soldier decided that he was moving too slow and promptly burst into running, greatly increasing his speed while foregoing the stealthy advances he had first chosen. He was well past the city at that point and while it was night, no human would see him coming.

He had chosen his armour colours exactly for that reason –while other Secret-Spartans wanted to maintain their stealth to get to their objectives unnoticed, he aimed at using his covertness to close in on his enemies and kill them with one single move. It was the sole reason for the black-gray tint of his MJOLNIR Mk VI armour. The only part of his suit that wasn't dark as the night was his visor, which was tinted in a subtle red colour.

All in all he would be pretty much invisible in the cover of the night, noticed only when it would be too late for his target to notice him.

In his hands he carried the powerful MA5E Assault rifle, the newest version of the MA5-series. It hadn't seen mass-production yet, as it had specifically been designed for the Secret-Spartan operatives. It could carry the munition clips of the older series if needed, but he preferred to use the special munition that had been designed to use with the rifle. The major difference between it and the previous versions –the ones used by the Marines of the _When Duty Ends_- was the munition. The MA5E version was compatible with the normal 7.62 mm clips, but it was designed with a higher-caliber munition in mind. As such, a soldier wielding the rifle was able to dish out more damage than other soldiers, without sacrificing ammo capacity. If he needed to, he could insert clips from the older MA5C rifles to supplement his firepower. Other features were an integrated optical scope with zooming function and a detachable bipod system. When needed to, he could take single shots from a long distance without sacrificing accuracy…although he could never reach the devastating effects that a normal Sniper Rifle caused. Still, in the hands of a capable marksman, the MA5E could rank up kills at a range easily two times the range of the other MA5 series.

Other than that, it resembled the MA5B series with the magazine size; the seven clips he carried with him all had a total of sixty rounds slotted into them. If he was very careful with aiming, he could reach up to four-hundred-twenty kills. But only if he was very careful.

The dragon screeched in annoyance and attempted to catch up to him, but he had moved too sudden and too fast for it to reach him.

He turned around and saw that the thing was slowly circling around and aiming at the ground, refusing to go with him at such speeds.

The Spartan huffed in annoyance and stopped running, understanding perfectly that this thing was too important to be left behind.

"Move it," he told it impatiently, gesturing with his rifle to the distant forest.

The black dragon bared its teeth and took flight again, spreading its wings and catching an upwards drift in the wind. But it took too long to reach him, even though it desperately swung its wings up and down in an attempt to reach a good speed.

In the end, the Super-Soldier grew tired of watching the pathetic animal blunder about in the wind and moved back, retrieving the cumbersome reptile. He reached out and it landed on his arm, wrapping its long tail around his armoured forearm and pressing its small body tightly against the cold metal.

It was curious that this animal seemed to like him so much, even though he himself did not remotely care for it.

Her. Him. What gender was it now, really?

The Spartan gently pried to black flyer off of his arm and held it in the air with one hand, keeping it upright by its back. The reptile started to squeal in protest and indignity, but he ignored it and started probing its belly with his index finger for any signs of malehood…or womanhood.

As he traced the lighter scales on its belly, he noticed that the creature quickly stopped resisting him and relaxed in his grasp. While he hadn't found anything that could determine its sex, he had found a way to calm it down if needed. But he didn't feel like rubbing the thing's belly everytime it acted up and besides; he wouldn't stay paired up with it for long.

Find UNSC, dump dragon, overthrow pitiful empire. Those three things were on his list and he would do anything to reach his goals.

The soldier placed the dragon right back on his shoulder and resumed running, slipping into a lapse of action as his legs methodically thundered over the terrain. Despite having been moving nonstop since the touchdown near Uru'baen, roughly ten hours ago, he didn't feel remotely worn out. But while he ran across the dark, bumpy landscape, he noticed that the dragon gradually ceased activity, until it was silent altogether.

Even the irritating presence near his mind faded away after an hour of nonstop running. After he had crossed the remaining thirty kilometers between the city and the forest in little more than sixty-five minutes, he finally came to a halt at the edge of the forest.

He scanned the surrounding area with his assault rifle and then lowered it, slowly moving deeper into its dark bowels. The nagging mind of the dragon suddenly came crashing into his own mind with the force of a common fly and he ignored its pleads and attempts at communication. He knew that it was hungry, but it could sleep later.

After all, the dragon had hatched in the middle of the night. By that reasoning, it had only been awake for three hours.

The Spartan trotted a good hundred meters into the dark forest before he oriented towards the south again. Eventually, he spotted a dark shape moving through the wet leaves and he crouched down, observing the moving animal. His eyes had been augmented to such a degree that he could see almost perfectly in the dark. He spotted a green snake slithering away and slowly pulled out his black Titanium combat knife, poising it to throw.

The dragon cocked its heads sideways and the super-soldier flung his knife at the snake, spearing its head and pinning it to the ground.

The reptile was dead before it knew what had happened.

He reached out and retrieved his knife, sliding it back into its holster after wiping off the blood that had stained the blade. "Eat up," he told the dragon and then started eyeing his environment, searching for a tree large enough to support his weight. While he could easily last another three days and nights without sleep, he also knew that it was imperative to sleep when he could. If he forced himself to march through the night in order to reach the next town, he might run into a major fight.

Yes…it would be smart to take the moment and rest while he could. Traveling was something he could do virtually all the time in this world, while sleep would be a very rare occurrence.

It didn't take the Spartan very long to spot a tree of considerable height, holding branches thick enough to support him. While climbing the tree to see if it could really hold him and his weight, he kept a close eye on the telepathic dragon. It was very rare for such a being to have been evolved naturally…there was no such thing as telepathic. The only beings he knew of that were capable of speaking with their minds were…not here.

Not here and not anywhere.

The black reptile was an enigma he truly hoped had nothing to do with the incredible alien activity that the UNSC had been encountering lately. The Halos, the Ark and the Forerunners. Everything in the galaxy seemed to have been caused by the once-great civilization of the ancient aliens. But this world was ruled by humans, not by aliens. There had to be a simple explanation for all of this; a wicked rebel leader augmenting several civilians with some new drug. That had to be it. The dragon was simply a rare, native animal that had evolved to levels on-par with humans. It was intelligent and telepathic, but nothing else.

And as he watched it hungrily devour the snake that was easily as long as its own body, he felt a strange longing. A longing to be back in the world he knew…to be back in the fight, shooting aliens and Insurrectionists. He didn't belong in the world of civilians and he knew it.

It would only be a matter of time before the UNSC would pull him out and when they did, he could put all of this behind him.

His head still ached from the experience that the small creature had caused, but he didn't hold it accountable. It might be intelligent enough to understand his most basic orders, but that was it. It couldn't think like humans did. That was simply not possible.

He finally found a branch that was sturdy enough to support him and he carefully positioned his body on top of it, holding his breath as the wooden appendage groaned under the stress.

He closed his eyes and calmed his breathing, carefully expanding the boundaries of his mind to find that of the dragon. This whole telepathy thing was still very hard to grasp and only because of the strange contact that the black animal had sought could he track its consciousness.

He understood that the reptile had done something strange with his mind. He had never before possessed the ability to search for something's mind, but because of the brief yet intense physical contact, it was almost as if the dragon's mind was welded to his own. Because of that intimate contact, he was able to directly communicate with the dragon by means of his own thoughts. He could order it to follow him and stay low, amongst others. In turn, the black creature could let him know that it was hungry, scared or feeling other emotions.

The Spartan briefly wondered what else he could do with the dragon, before focusing on the task at hand. '_Sleep,'_ He told the creature, '_Tree.'_

The dragon finished lapping up the blood from the fresh kill and lazily stared up at him, again holding an amused expression on its face.

He sighed with frustration. It was almost as if he had been forced to babysit some annoying VIP in the middle of a warzone. This thing had better turn out to be useful in the coming weeks.

The dragon growled softly and flicked its wings in annoyance. He realized that he might have let a sense of frustration slip from his usually impervious mental shield and vowed to keep an even tighter control over his mind. After all, he might possibly drive the creature mad with the things he had seen and done. The only person that could withstand the thoughts of the brutal combat he had seen was a Spartan. And seeing as this dragon was a dumb animal and not a biologically-altered super-soldier, he would much rather shield his thoughts than share them.

'_Now,'_ He then added to his line of communication, still holding his eyes closed. He felt a new sensation pressing itself against his mind, like a feather brushing his bare skin. It felt more subtle than the previous emotions that the dragon had sent him…and it made him loath to let it enter his head.

But after the dragon increased its attempts of pressing the featherlike experience against his mind, he gave in and allowed it to enter his mind.

An image appeared in his head. It was an image of him, with the black dragon curled around his right forearm. A subtle emotion followed its wake. _Curiosity_.

Why was the dragon curious about an image that it had sent him itself? And why that particular one? What was this thing playing at?

'_Later,'_ He told it and started to feel impatient. '_Tree. Now.'_

The addition of that last word made all the difference; the pitch-black dragon growled softly and spread its silvery wings, rapidly beating them in order to lift itself up in the air. The Spartan had to give it to the reptile; it was a fast learner. Only three hours out of its egg and already flying. He had learned of mother-birds throwing baby-birds out of their nests back on earth, so that the babies would learn how to fly. If the dragon was already capable of flying at such a young age, combined with communicating via emotions and images, he could try to teach it some other things. He had no idea how far he would need to go or when he would find Captain Wren again; it might take two days or it might take two weeks. And he had to protect the valuable creature every waking second.

He might as well make it worth his while. He could train the dragon to gather intelligence; fly out in the open, spot possible targets and then relay the image of the targets directly back to him.

It would be an interesting tactic for sure. The creature was loyal to him alright; he didn't need to force it to stay with him and it always sought him out on its own.

A new idea welled up in his mind and he remembered that certain species would only bond to the very first thing they saw after birth; that creature would become its mother.

Was that why the dragon cared for him like that? Because it thought that he was its mother? How ridiculous; he didn't give a damn about the foolish animal. He was stuck with it alright, but in no way did that mean he would actually have to feel for it.

The dragon reached the branch below him and then clawed its way up to his current position, a small ring of smoke trailing its nostrils as it exerted itself trying to get to him.

He lowered his hand, allowed the dragon to claw at it and then pulled it up. Even though the small creature was annoying and slowing him down, he still didn't want it to be harassed by the predators of the night.

And as the dragon curled up on his dark chestplate to find a favorable position to sleep in, he briefly pondered the biology of the creature…what gender it was and if it could possibly breathe fire. If so, the UNSC might find a way to weaponize it.

No, the UNSC would do no such thing. It would be up to ONI to forge new weaponry.

He banished those thoughts and exhaled softly, calming himself for a quick night of sleep.

Darkness befell the Spartan and soon, he was fast asleep.

But that sleep didn't last very long. Six hours further into the night, he suddenly shot upright with his rifle in his hands. The first rays of daylight were already warming the forest, coming as an unpleasant surprise.

A sense of unease crept onto him and he carefully scanned the forest around him for any sign of trouble. There was something wrong…very wrong. He could feel it, as any Secret-Spartan could. All of them had something akin to a sixth sense when it came to sniffing out danger…and that sense was currently nagging him like an annoying mosquito.

It meant trouble.

He looked around, trying to spot his dragon. He couldn't see it anywhere and that was a bad thing.

The Spartan jumped out of the tree and landed on the ground, nearly flattening the black reptile that was waiting for him at the base of the tree.

"Watch it!" He snapped at the unfortunate creature and readied his rifle once again. Confusion emanated from the dragon and he understood that it wanted to know why he had suddenly jumped into action like that.

Not that he would explain why he had done so.

His motion tracker didn't indicate anything abnormal; it was completely clear. And that meant trouble too.

It was just too quiet; too calm. There had to be at least two dozen animals in the vicinity of his tree, yet he didn't hear a single bird. There wasn't anything around him…something had scared the animals away.

"We got trouble," He told the dragon and slowly marched deeper into the forest, continuously aiming his rifle at any place where he thought he might have spotted movement. There was something in the forest with him…something near. It was hiding, he knew that. His motion tracker would have given it away if it had moved.

The thought of the red-haired hostiles slipped into his mind and he remembered how inhuman those things had been. The news of him raiding the capital city had quite relatively fast…and he had been on foot the whole time. There was a small possibility that someone had been tracking him and the only person capable of doing so was the other red-haired female

The Spartan made his way through the forest for another ten tense minutes, constantly keeping a close eye on his environment and constantly aware of the nagging feeling at the back of his mind.

When the eleventh minute passed by, he started to ease up. A few birds had started to sing their loud songs and his dragon –who had been awfully quiet for a while- immediately rose up in the air and started to pursue them.

He had learned long ago that animals were sensitive to changes in their surroundings. By making use of local resources, he could determine the things that machines could not. He didn't relax just yet, but he understood that whatever had been around had left again.

The dragon sailed over his head and narrowly managed to avoid a tree. The reptile was obviously a baby; its entire demeanor screamed childish at him. But at the same time he could see how all of its actions were aimed at development and growth; it was hunting, flying and moving all the while it communicated with him on a human level of intelligence.

Now that he thought about it, the dragon was actually a pretty efficient being. It had only just been born and yet it was still smart enough to communicate with him on a mental basis and understand how to fly.

That was probably the reason why the egg had been a national treasure: the capabilities of the dragon. The UNSC could learn a lot from the reptile, even though they had less need for military advantages at the moment. The official story was that the war was over, but tensions were high and the stakes were even higher. One wrong move from either the Sangheili or Human groups and both races would descent into warfare again.

He was there to make sure that the war would be won before it started…well, he _had_ been there. Now he stuck on some backwater planet with a telepathic dragon.

The Spartan became aware of a dry aching in the back of his throat, indicating that he was thirsty. There was a small, streaming river roughly a dozen meters ahead. The smart thing would be to go there and refill his water supply. His MJOLNIR had a built-in water filtration unit, good for a total of 500 liters of water. When times were lean, he could drink from the most polluted bodies of water without getting poisoned. He could insert a canister of fluids, which would be fed to his helmet where he might consume the water if needed.

However, the river ahead of him wasn't that dirty. It was clean, streaming water where plenty of moss grew. It was clean enough to drink without wasting the filtration potential of his suit –he only had one of those installed and once it was full, it would be useless. He had plenty of time to go and drink polluted water, but he knew when to make use of local resources should they present themselves.

He took the empty canister and held it in the river, careful as to not delve too deeply into the lower layers, where there was a higher chance at diseased water.

Once it was full, he reintegrated it with his armour by inserting it in its slot.

Enough water to last for another three days.

The Spartan then allowed the dragon to drink its fill too, taking notice of its size. It had visibly grown since it had hatched –not by much, no more than an inch- but it was still visible to him.

'_Is that why it's always hungry?'_ He thought, '_Because it grows continuously?'_

The dragon finished drinking from the river and turned around to face him, looking at him with eyes that held more intelligence than before.

He shook his head, knowing that he lacked the information he so desperately needed. He needed someone to explain some things to him…and that someone was going to be in the next city. But first he would have to make it out of the seemingly never-ending forest.

The Spartan spent an entire day making his way through the first part of the far-stretched forest, moving up and down hills and on one occasion, descending a sheer stone cliff. The area was littered with steep hills and cliffs like the one he had traveled down. It reminded him of an image he had once seen of a place back on Reach: a large, mountainous area filled with all kinds of forests and bodies of water. It had been a perfect place for soldiers learning how to survive in areas they could hike in, like mountains and cliffs.

When the sun started to set, the wandering soldier slid down a considerable slope, holding himself upright by keeping his left gauntlet dug deep into the humid layer of leaves and earth. In doing so, he prevented himself from slipping and falling, although it wouldn't really harm him if he did.

At the bottom of the forested hillside ran a big river, easily reaching ten meters in width. He knew that he was still heading in the right direction, but his dragon was starting to doubt his operation. It wanted to know when they were going to rest again. It seemed to have had considerable trouble falling asleep when attached to his suit –and he couldn't expect the creature to keep up with him like that.

So the Spartan decided that they were going to spend the night near the river, allowing the dragon to refresh itself and catch some shut-eye.

He had arrived in the land of Alagaesia somewhere in the early afternoon of what he had labeled day One, during which he had stolen the egg and escaped the capital city. Then, he had spent eight hours traveling to a forest, where the egg had hatched. Three more hours of traveling then six hours of sleep had been enough to get through the first night. After sleeping through the first night, he had spent another day, day Two, making his way into what had to be the largest forest of the continent. But he was getting close now.

While the dragon hunted down the riverbank for anything edible, the Spartan utilized his combat knife and a piece of flint he had found after some digging to set fire to a bundle of dry twigs and cotton. Rudimentary survival skills had been taught to each individual Secret-Spartan, in case one of their missions required them to spend several days or weeks alone, cut off from the UNSC.

The collection of dry and flammable materials easily caught fire and he hastily placed several larger pieces of wood on top of the resulting flame, laying the foundation for a proper bonfire.

'_Food?'_ He asked the dragon.

It showed him an image of a small crab, which he accepted in silence. Even though it had only been two days and nights without food, he still felt like he should be hunting something. If he were to run into major resistance on his way to the next city, he would be in a severe disadvantage if he fought without nutrients in his bodies. He had one two nutrient bars with him, but he wanted to save them for when the need was the highest.

Once the fire was big enough, he took several sips of the water he had gathered and then told the dragon to stay put near the fire. He wanted to examine it closer, but now that she sun was officially disappearing behind the hills, he would have to use the light that the bonfire emanated to see the dragon as it was. He could see well enough in the dark, but colours were generally absent in the night and he wanted to see what the reptile looked like without that side-effects.

While he had been tending to the fire, his companion had apparently caught and devoured a relatively large bird, judging by the scattered feathers and patches of blood.

For such a small thing, it seemed to eat quite a lot of food. He knew that certain animals could grow to three times their size in just one week, but whether this thing did the same thing or not remained to be seen.

The Spartan tried to sleep through the night in relative peace, but he kept shooting upright, adrenaline and other hormones soaring through his body, each and every time the dragon made a strange noise. He was a very light sleeper; not much was needed to rouse him from his sleep and he was ready for combat the very moment he had woken up. But the dragon never seemed to notice his troubles, as it continued rolling about and kicking with its limbs.

And it snored. Every few minute, it uttered some strange, loud growl that went paired with a circle of smoke exiting its nostrils.

The fifth time that happened, the soldier shook his head and covered the dragon in a bundle of leaves, hoping that might be enough to shut it up without him actually telling it to.

Once he had done so, however, the dragon remained silent and he was finally able to sleep.

The night went by relatively fast and the subsequent day, day Three, went by even faster, with the Spartan and the dragon crossing the remaining parts if the forest and then reaching the outskirts of the city called Petrovya.

By his estimation, it should be five o'clock in the afternoon; most of the men and women in town should be up and about, doing things like cooking, smiting and building.

But for some reason, the Spartan didn't see that. What he did see from his prone position on top of a large rock outcropping however, were multiple groups of people arming themselves with swords, spears and other bladed weapons. From what he could see, they were preparing for a fight.

A rather big one.

His dragon slowly crawled towards him, dragging its scaled underbelly over the steep stone. It had grown exponentially since it had hatched; while it hadn't been much longer than his forearm at the start, it had grown to be longer than a full meter in just a few days.

That was an average of ten centimeter per day. And he was very sure that the growth had been minor after the first day. So this thing truly did grow exponentially. That meant it would gain another meter in three days…and then three.

So after two weeks, it could well be longer than a Covenant Seraph fighter. The only problem was that he didn't know just how large these things could get. It might stop at four meters, it might stop at twenty. And the larger it became, the harder it would be to keep inconspicuous.

The Spartan looked to his left, where some very big mountain-ranges were sticking up at the horizon. But in order to get to those large spires, known as the Beor Mountains, he needed to cross a vast, desolate plain that seemed to stretch on indefinitely. His MJOLNIR would protect him from the glaring sun, as would it protect him from the high temperatures. He also had enough water to last a few days and he should be able to keep moving long enough to reach the mountains, where he could find dinner. The distance couldn't be much larger than the one he had covered between Uru' baen and Furnost, but the distance through what had to be a desert didn't matter much.

No, the problem didn't lie with him. It lay with the dragon. He didn't have enough water for the black lizard and if it would surely take him another day or two to actually reach the first mountain –or a day and a night, considering his speed and plans. No, the dragon wouldn't survive the journey to the mountain-range.

He needed to reconsider his plans. The creature was an asset; it was intelligent, important and biologically impossible. It was-

The Spartan felt the consciousness of the dragon brush against his mind once again and sighed.

It was hungry again.

'_Wait,'_ He told it with his mind and then continued observing the city. It took the people at least thirty minutes to get properly armed and prepared for some conflict and he watched them all the while, learning everything he could about the city. He saw a large caravan being formed at its south entrance, while a few soldiers rushed to man the walls.

The Spartan was currently positioned roughly three dozen meters to the north of the city, observing it from a decent vantage point. He needed to go to the east, which had to be situated to his left. He if were to start traveling immediately, he would only have to endure two hours of scorching heat in the desert before it grew cold. But that cold would also be too much for his dragon to bear, so he was really out of options there. He estimated the distance between the distanced mountains and the city to be a good eighty kilometers…if he marched at a speed of ten kilometers per hour, he would reach the mountains in eight.

If he ran with a speed of thirty kilometers per hour, he could reach the mountains in three. He had enough water for himself…but his dragon really needed its sustenance. Its raving hunger had only increased; during the day it had taken them to travel to the city in front of them, the ever-growing reptile had slain and devoured at least half a dozen birds, four snakes and a half the carcass of a freshly-slain wolf. If he coupled that to the copious amounts of water that it consumed, he had a serious problem.

It needed to eat something substantial every thirty minutes and he would be traveling through a chilling desert for at least three hours. And if the sand bogged him down, it would be more than three hours.

He sighed, trying to find a way to deal with the problem. His dragon was a meter long, thirty centimeters high and capable of at least twenty minutes of flight. Yet it ate more than a full squad of battle-hardened ODST's ate and it consumed enough water for him to buy it a swimming pool as a cup.

Where did it leave all that food? It wasn't growing fat or lazy, on the contrary: it was growing larger, more lean and more active. Was it some alien life-cycle? That it reached maturity within two weeks?

That would be a sight to behold. Captain Wren and his troopers –for all their worth in the fight- weren't more important than this being. It seemed to defy the laws of nature by simply existing and the more he hung around with it, the more he became convinced that there was something off with it. Birds were capable of sustained flight because of their hollow bone-structure, wings and feathers. Bats were similar.

This being didn't seem to work like that. It had a dark, batlike membrane on its wings but it didn't feel too light. For all intents and purposes, it shouldn't be capable of flight.

And that was not even considering the occasional flutter of smoke that circled around its nose. This creature had specifically evolved to be similar to a dragon…and humans weren't capable of that. Neither were aliens.

So the question was…what was it? A flaw of nature? A failed experiment?

The dragon stared at the Spartan while the latter mused what to do, looking confused and uncertain at what to do. Eventually, the super-soldier slowly crept backwards and slid down the rock.

"You understand me?" He asked the animal.

It cocked its head sideways and looked at him, confusion radiating off of it.

"Nod if you do."

The dragon slowly whipped its head up and down, much to the Spartan's satisfaction.

"Our target lies behind the mountains to the left," He started explaining. The reptile turned to face the east while he talked to it, showing a remarkable intelligence once again. "However, there is a desert in our way. We can tonight, or tomorrow."

He didn't mention the third option to the creature; the option that prolonged their stay around the town and created new possibilities. But almost as soon as he thought of keeping that information withheld, the dragon crept closer to him and opened its maw, revealing an impressive range of teeth.

Then, it showed him an image of the forest where they had just come from, a sense of ease accompanying it. The creature obviously liked the forest better than the desert –and he could imagine why.

He shook his head to show that he wouldn't listen to its advice though, even as the doubts were beginning to settle. He had only been traveling for three days by now and the dragon was obviously in a stage where it needed continuous sustenance. If he were to cut that cycle of growth, he might damage the creature somehow. It was useful to the UNSC, as it had a unique biology and intelligence. As such, the highest priority would be the creature's safety. Not Wren's safety, not his own, but the creature's.

The Spartan looked at the city again, thinking about the third option that was becoming increasingly more viable. If he rushed things like he had been doing ever since the animal had been born, it might get hurt. It was only a juvenile animal and crossing a desert was a little bit more than it could take. The smartest thing to do was also the most frustrating thing to do, as he was generally very bad at doing that.

The smartest thing to do was waiting for the dragon to stop growing so explosively, before heading out to the desert. He had a large number of arguments against choosing that option…and an equally large number of arguments for choosing that option.

He had haste. He wanted to find Wren and the UNSC as soon as possible, to get back to the fight ASAP. The longer he waited around, the higher chances he would have at being found out by the enemy, as he was still in their empire. And there was no telling when the dragon would be done with growing; it could take months.

On the other hand…there was no clear war going on in the UNSC anymore. Rebel activity had decreased, the Covenant was busy with their civil wars and he had been sent to recover Math-011, not to partake on some urgent and very critical operation. Also, they had been sent to this planet by the Forerunners for a reason. There might be something very important hidden on the surface of Alagaesia and if he took off too soon, he wouldn't find it. And he had already found something of great importance and that something could become very useful in the future.

The dragon really was the most important thing at the moment. Its well-being was his top-priority and he needed to be sure of his position before making any decisions. Besides; the city below him was well-stocked and well-populated. If he hung around for an additional day or three before setting out, it wouldn't hurt anyone.

"What now?" He asked it after a few more minutes of silence. "Wait or move?"

The dragon emanated a sense of patience, clearly indicating that it wanted to wait.

Damn.

He sighed and clenched his fists. It had already been three days without UNSC contact…the prospect of waiting another three was a very frustrating one. He hated having to sit and wait but…he might as well make something useful out of it.

There were plenty of things to learn though. If he made a plan on how to deal with the coming days, he might even prepare himself for a meeting with the so-called Varden, the rebels in this country.

He spent the rest of the evening alternating between observing the surrounding areas, getting to know his environment and sneaking up behind groups of scouting soldiers to overhear their conversations.

By the time night had fallen, the Spartan had learned plenty of interesting things from his trips around the city. Apparently, this city was a front for the rebel group of the Varden, where supplies were smuggled over the border into a country named "Surda". It seemed that Surda was still independent from the Empire, even though the king was probably preparing to wage war on them too. And while the guards he had overheard had spoken about the Varden being located somewhere in the Beor Mountains, none of them had actually expressed knowledge about the mysterious organization's whereabouts.

He made his way back to the edge of the forest, where he had ordered the dragon to stay in a tree and wait for him to return. It was slowly becoming increasingly difficult to impose his will onto the small reptile, as it desperately wanted to follow him everywhere he went. It truly was as if the creature saw him like a maternal figure.

As the Spartan started collecting branches and leaves for a small, simple cover for the night, the dragon once again attempted to get intimate with him. No matter how many times he told the creature to back off and leave him alone, it continued to bother him for attention. Why didn't it realize that it was only an asset to him? That its importance was purely based on its body and nothing else?

Once he was certain that his wooden construction would obscure his already well camouflaged armour, he wiped away the many feathers that the dragon had gathered in its hunting and told it to lay low, for everyone could hear its squealing and growling.

The mere idea of having to wait a few days before moving was enough to seriously aggravate him and he felt a rising sense of impatience slowly forcing its way into the pit of his stomach. He hated having to sit still and these days would be very long and very annoying.

The dragon flashed him an image of its latest kill; a large weasel. For a reptile that had only hatched a few days ago, it was turning into a considerable hunter.

The Spartan ignored its message however and took a few mouthfuls of his water. It didn't taste bad, but for river water found in an unpolluted area, it sure did taste off.

Whatever. Spartans didn't get sick. Not often.

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but he couldn't help thinking about all the strange things he had heard. Barring elves and dwarfs and magic, as those could only be the result of indoctrination and rumors, he wanted to know why this Varden actually wanted to fight the Empire. From what he had seen, the king wasn't actually a bad king. H had made the mistake of attacking the USNC, but apart from that he hadn't seen a single thing that could have indicated that this…Galbatorix…was a dictator. No slavery, no slums, a well-trained army there to uphold the law.

The Spartan didn't trust the Varden, really. He had encountered enough twisted minds in the Insurrectionists to understand that not every cause was just. If the situation was just like his own…the Varden should be his enemies, not the empire.

The sole reason why he sought the Varden out was to gain information on the whereabouts of Captain Wren and his marines. After that, it would be repairing the Communications disk at the _When Duty Ends_ and calling for a towing ship.

This world didn't hold anything for him…except for the little dragon.

After ten minutes of musing, the Spartan decided to simply go to sleep and make things up as he went along.

The three following days were long, troublesome and frustrating. His hunger only grew and he felt the desire to find and kill something, but he couldn't indulge in such simple-minded actions, as he had no hostiles anywhere. What he did have, at the end of his sixth day in Alagaesia, was new information on the nature of the city and the empire and a new plan.

The Spartan had heard a group of soldiers conversing with each other, talking about some very interesting topics. Apparently, the empire was searching for a new rider. A dragon's egg had hatched, bonded to a young farmer's kid and caused a whole lot of ruckus.

The soldiers hadn't mentioned how long ago that had been, but they had spoken about an informant in a city called Gil'ead and how this Rider and his dragon had rescued some important person from a prison.

He didn't care for the plight of some stupid child, but what he did care for was the knowledge of a person called a 'rider'. These soldiers seemed to think that a person whom a dragon hatched for was important somehow. Thankfully, they hadn't heard of a second dragon hatching, otherwise they would have been searching the surrounding areas for him. From what those people spoke about, it seemed that the King was all too eager to state that someone had attacked the Capital city, but not that someone had actually robbed it.

Propaganda in all its glory. But it had served its purpose, fur he now knew just how important this dragon really was to this country. Both the empire as the rebels depended on the new Rider and his dragon to help tip the fight to their favor. And judging by the urgent way those guards spoke, the kid hadn't made up his mind yet concerning whom he wanted to join.

And seeing as the empire was _his_ enemy, he would have to kill the boy and his dragon if they decided to join Galbatorix.

But the hatching of that dragon had to have been more than three months ago…meaning that it could be the size of a Pelican dropship by now.

His own dragon had continued to feast on all living things in the area and it had also continued to grow at an astonishing rate. At the end of his sixth day on this planet, the dragon's shoulders had reached his elbows. That was more than three feet high. Its body ranged a full ten feet from the tip of its snout to the end of its tail and its wings easily spanned twenty feet when unfolded.

The Spartan was pleased to see that it had grown to be a ferocious animal, too. Its teeth were like daggers and its talons were strong and sharp enough to kill a wolf in one fell swipe. The dragon no longer screeched or squealed as its voice had grown to be deeper, more rumbling.

'_Hungry?'_ He asked it with his mind. The end of his third day of waiting had come and he was very eager to leave the informational city of Petrovya behind and head out towards the Beor Mountains. The problem was that he had no clue as to where to find this 'Varden' he had been hearing increasing amounts of information over and even the smugglers that claimed to bring supplies into Surda never spoke about their true whereabouts.

So when he would be hiking across the mountains, he would have to move slower to avoid missing any and all indications as to where the rebel organization was hiding.

The dragon growled in agreement. In just six days, its telepathic abilities had increased to the point where it could communicate with him by sending images, smells and even feelings to him. It annoyed him greatly that the dragon had access to his mind to such a degree, although he was also grateful that it wasn't able to read his mind or memories.

And still he didn't know if it was a girl or not. He had a stronger sense of womanhood with the dragon than malehood, but still. He wasn't sure.

They were currently situated near the edge of the forest, roughly a kilometer north-west of the city. The mountains were to his east and he planned to go there that very night. The sun was setting again and he knew that his dragon would be capable enough to withstand the freezing cold of a desert biome.

He downed another few gulps of his water and thought about using one of the nutrient bars. It had been six days since he had eaten something and he did not want to encounter anything unhuman on an empty stomach.

A lone wolf howled in the night and his dragon immediately let him know that it was thrilled and that it wanted to hunt.

"Thirty minutes," He ordered the reptile and then resumed watching the desert-plain between him and the peaks. If the dragon ate its full one final time before they embarked, he wouldn't encounter much trouble during their journey.

While he waited for the reptile to return, he popped one of the nutrient bars and took another sip of the water he had gathered. Even though he had used it sparsely, it was almost gone. He was thankful though; the water had a weird taste to it and the sooner he could find a new supply of water, the better it would be.

Then his left side erupted in pain and he spun around with his rifle at the ready, prepared to shoot and kill anything that could have snuck up on him.

There was nothing. His motion tracker indicated nothing in close proximity and his shields hadn't been damaged in the slightest. Nothing had happened…and yet his ribs were burning and itching as if something had mauled him with a series of knives.

Then the Spartan heard screaming and growling in the distance and exploded into movement. Pain was nothing but a nuisance to him; he had long ago learned how to banish out all forms of discomfort with a near hundred percent effectiveness. But he knew that the hurt had no origin on his own body; he was mentally linked to the dragon that much he knew. Whatever had caused a sudden bout of pain in his body would have also caused his ally to feel that and judging by the violent fighting sounds in the forest, it had gotten to it at the worst possible timing

The armoured soldier sprinted through the dense foliage, crushing thorny bushes and smaller trees as if they were rotten twigs. It took him no more than a minute to reach the place where he had located his dragon, but as the Spartan knew, one minute too late might as well be an hour too late when it came to reinforcing someone.

He jumped over a fallen tree and stumbled upon a small clearing, where the black dragon was busy fighting off three wolves at once. Two of them were wounded, but the third one was not and that was the one who was the most active in harming his companion.

Its scales hadn't been breached, but not for a lack of trying. Long scratches ran down the dragon's side and even though he didn't see any blood, he still understood that the creature must be hurting.

He ignored the faint throbbing in his own side and got to work. He flung his combat knife at the wolf that was just about to flank the dragon and hit it in its side, knocking it off balance and sending it falling to the ground.

The Spartan had never stopped moving since entering the small clearing and by the time the wolves knew that he was there, he was already upon them.

The fallen canine barely had time to register the heavily armoured soldier that had appeared near their prey, before a gauntlet shot out and punched it in its skull, killing it instantly

With the lead wolf killed, the two remaining wolves had a harder time attacking the dragon and the black creature retaliated with savage fury, flinging itself at the nearest predator and burying its dagger-like talons deep into its flanks./

While his dragon was killing the second wolf, the Spartan turned to look at the remaining canine. But the wolf was smarter than its unfortunate allies and it turned around to run away, oozing blood from a dragon-inflected wound all the while.

He witnessed the black reptile ripping into its kill and he reached out to retrieve his blade. It was amusing to see how the scales of his dragon almost seemed to match the colour of his blade. However, the animal's scaled hide shone brightly whenever a source of light was around to illuminate it, while the stainless steel of the combat knife was nonreflective.

"Status report," He asked the creature.

In return, the Spartan received a garbled message consisting of visions, smells and emotions concerning the dragon's rage and indignity.

He shook his head and sat down near a log, looking at the savage bodies of the slain wolves. They didn't look like the kind of animals that would attack a dragon head-on. And he had only heard one of the canines howling into the night…had he made a mistake? Or had his dragon made a mistake?

Deciding that it wasn't important, the Spartan allowed the reptile to eat its fill for exactly fifteen minutes –as fifteen minutes had already passed since it had gone out hunting. He had promised it thirty minutes of time and no more.

Luckily, the creature seemed to have grasped his concept of time without too much trouble. Just when he was about to grab the dragon by its neck and tear it away from its prey, the creature raised its head and turned around, blood dripping from its maw.

"We're leaving," He told the animal.

_Excitement,_ the dragon let him feel. It had better be excited about moving, he had been forced to wait three days before the thing was strong enough to travel and he didn't want to waste one additional minute in doing so.

With the dragon in tow, The Spartan made his way back to the edge of the forest, where he had a good overview of the plains leading to the base of the mountains. His companion had eaten its full and now they could finally travel further.

It was a curious thing how the reptile had managed to make him feel exactly the same thing it had endured during its fight. Was that also a part of this mental link they were supposed to be having? If so, he wanted it gone. He couldn't have a creature hurting him by simply getting hurt itself. It would only disorient him during battles and distract him from his mission.

He couldn't have that. As soon as he had rejoined with his people, he would find a way to sever that link between him and the black dragon.

But for now, it had served its purpose. He had understood that his ally was in trouble and he had acted accordingly. Now to find the Varden…and information.

Together with his black-scaled appendage, he worked his way towards the desolate plains of the desert. Night had fallen by then, allowing them to move in the darkness without being spotted. The sand was treacherous and dangerous and more times than not he almost misplaced his legs, forcing him to move more carefully than he had wanted to. The dragon didn't have that problem as it was capable of flight, but even that advantage didn't last long. Soon, the desert-winds became too strong for the creature to keep itself afloat without risking itself.

Because of the nature of their travels, he didn't want to be seen by anyone but the occasional serpent hiding underneath the sand. As such, he couldn't allow the dragon to fly too high or too far away. While he marched across the sand with a tempo that was twice as high as that of the average soldier, he became aware of a throbbing presence near the back of his mind.

Recognizing it as the consciousness of his dragon, he allowed the sensation to enter his thoughts and a new vision flashed before his eyes. He saw a column of fifty individuals marching across a dark, sandy dune. The surrounding area looked familiar to his own…very familiar.

He eyed his motion tracker and didn't see anything. Strange. Perhaps it was the howling wind that blew sand virtually everywhere? It might be enough to hide the tracks of those people, as the scanner could get confused at times. The distance might also be a problem.

He frowned when he noticed something off. Those figures didn't really look…normal. Their bodies were disproportional to that of a human. It could be a distortion of the air, as his dragon had been flying when it relayed that image, but he still couldn't risk it.

The Spartan ordered his dragon to retreat and then checked his motion scanner again. The wind had died down enough for him to see clearly in front of him and he recognized a dune that he had also seen when the dragon contacted him.

He spent a minute or two trying to climb up the large collection of sand and crouched low when he spotted the convoy, moving approximately twenty meters ahead of them. They had a relatively high speed in their marching…and relatively large bodies for something so humanoid.

He hit the zooming function on his HUD and slowly aimed his rifle at the group of hostiles. These things weren't humans, that much was obvious. All of them had large, curling horns protruding from their skulls and they carried large, mean-looking weapons. Their skin almost looked grey from that distance…but it could have also been because of the night, the wind and the sand.

He didn't want to waste munitions on them, but he also didn't want to circle around them and leave such a large number of obviously hostiles on his six.

But he also didn't know if they were really hostile…unless they had been the reason for the smuggler-town of Petrovya to garrison their men.

His dragon stared at him with its intelligent, yellow eyes. Almost as if it asked him what to do next.

What would he do?

~0~

"_The grey abomination is proving to be a harder prey than I have expected, my lady. I do think I have poisoned him, but he keeps marching on with the speed of a Kull. If he does not succumb soon, I will have no choice but to ambush him near the Mountains."_

"_Do not try at failing me, Raia. The consequences will be less pleasant than what the abomination did to your neck."_

"_It will be done my lady."_

- Conversation between "Shade" designated 'Raia' and unnamed individual, 6 days after UNSC asset SS-007 contact with Uru'baen.

~0~

_I know that the dragon grows a bit faster than Saphira. But do not worry! Those familiar with Scattered One know that I have planned everything from the very beginning. _


	4. Secret-Spartan pt I

_First off: more than 11 reviews per chapter. This is really awesome._

_And then: even though I really like the Inheritance cycle, there were several things that really ticked me off. Continuing in the mind of Alternate Universe, I don't think that I will take a lot of the last book for canon. Including the end. All of that will change for the better._

_Can I say such a thing, or will that sound like me thinking to be better than Paolini (writer of Inheritance)?_

_**Siphon 117: **__ooh…is he now?_

_**Jcraft596: **__I shall gather some Intelligence and see what is possible, then._

_**Kain Everguard: **__I can relate._

_**Tuutje 07: **__You are right, I should keep to kilometers. _

_You are dead-on with the description. That is a Spartan in a nut-shell. About him knowing the things the other people think: he does not know and he does not care._

_He can hunt and kill, but that would require him taking off the helmet. And these Secret-Spartans learn more than killing: piloting vehicles to kill…blowing up buildings to kill…marking enemies to kill…kidnapping individuals to interrogate…then kill. The list goes on._

_**Sierra110: **__For I am a monument to all your sins?_

_**ILikedabubbles: **__thought as much. That is an interesting theory…but is it correct? Spoilers._

_**Great Story: **__(thanks) I think I can manage a flashback at one point._

_**The Blue Tigrex: **__…he actually didn't filter anything. He wanted to save the filter. :3_

_**Water Guardian 26: **__send me the link and I shall read._

_**The Reviewer: **__yep, I can totally see that happening. Although I can say that this isn't the last we have seen of the old guy. _

_But thanks for pointing that out: I will exploit the whole "forced to love " thing in greater depths, but you sure hit the right spot._

_**Solar Jarl The Cannon King 44K: **__three reviews! Yay!_

_Dulled? Me? Never. _

_I am happy to see that I managed to make the combat scenes easy to visualize, I like visualizing too. I sure did not intent adorable, but neither did I intent NOT adorable. But I must admit that I haven't seen the dark souls 2 trailer. But I take it as a compliment nonetheless!_

_Bonding is always good, isn't it? And while I did not mean to let people think that the dragon could get armoured like a Pelican, the image sure is awesome._

_**Anon: **__Well, Math-011 and Helia-009 use combat styles that involve using the opponent's mass and speed against him or her, while 007 uses more aggressive, direct attacks. In a full-on melee brawl, I would say that Math would lose the first round, but then win the second and third ones as he gets used to 007's style…before 7 proceeds to shift his entire technique and throw him off balance. Then 007 will win the fourth round. _

_And 009 –who will appear in a later crossover- would beat both of them._

~0~

"_The Augmentation procedure for subject Seven is finally over. The entire process took more than two day…but now he is fully ready for combat. We shall retrieve Halsey's MJOLNIR and outfit him, too."_

Unknown Section Seven scientist, march 18, 2542

~0~

The Spartan crept forwards silently, carefully placing his feet on the feeble hills of sand as to not cause a sudden shift in their structures. One misplaced step in his current area could create an avalanche of sand, allowing the creatures he was stalking to find out that he was there.

He had been following the convoy of fifty-plus contacts for more than twenty minutes at that point, moving at a slower pace than he would have liked, but still faster than a squad of ODST's could march. The creatures that he was stalking were not human, that much he knew.

They had grey skin, large and prominent horns and really bad placement of body-armour. Some individuals in their ranks stood taller than eight feet, making them as large –if not larger- than a brute. Even though they were obviously nonhuman, they could still be some aboriginal subspecies of native human presence. As such, he couldn't simply murder them all.

The Spartan finally reached the top of a particularly high dune and lowered his body, staying hidden from the walking monstrosities as well as keeping a close eye on them. His dragon was nowhere near his levels of stealth and had to work a lot harder to remain hidden from the group of humanoids.

Speaking of which, where was the not-so-small reptile now? He hadn't seen it since he had started the stalking.

He looked to his right and instantly felt a fit of annoyance creeping up on him. The grey-skinned creatures were moving towards the outlines of the Beor Mountains, where the Varden was supposed to be positioned. On their right flank lay a series of smaller, more unstable sandbanks. The only thing that had to happen for the group to completely oversee that flank was for one of them to turn their heads a bit to the right.

And his dragon was currently positioned on top of said sandbank, overlooking those creatures from what was very obviously NOT a good position for cover. Why was it stupid?

And as if it was meant to be, one of those creatures just happened to look to its right at the very moment that the Spartan tried to contact the dragon with his mind.

'_Get out of there!'_ He told the animal and leaped over his own dune, landing on the sandy plains a good ten meters away from the convoy of monsters –behind them, not at their sides like the dragon.

One of the horned humanoids bellowed loudly and pointed at the dragon with a thick finger, a war-axe brandished in its other hand.

The dragon roared in defiance and attempted to take off and fly to safety, but the sand was too unstable and the entire sandbank collapsed when it did, sending the black beast plummeting towards the ground.

One of the largest creatures stepped forwards and growled at the reptile, lowering its head and bringing its large horns to bear. One of its hands reached for an oversized knife and the dragon hissed at the humanoid creature in return, preparing to pounce at its eight-foot-tall mass in retaliation.

But the Spartan hadn't been sitting still either. As soon as the horned abomination had shown open hostility to the reptile, the super-soldier had leaped into action.

Half a ton of armour and human rammed into the grey, musclebound creature, sending it crashing to the ground after it flew through the air for two meters.

Normally in its life, after having received such a blow, the horned humanoid would get enough respite to crawl back to his feet and rejoin the fight. It was large and heavy enough to withstand the most powerful of blows.

But this time, it received no such respite. No sooner had its grey bulk hit the sandy plans or the Spartan had jumped after it, killing it by jamming a large knife into its neck with such ferocity that he nearly tore its head clean off.

'_Take cover,'_ He told the dragon as he rose to his feet, facing the group of forty-nine remaining hostiles. They were all reaching for their weapons, growling and communicating with each other while doing so.

Zero-zero-seven felt a warm, fuzzy feeling as a large quantity of chemicals and hormones spread itself throughout his body once more. His stomach itched and his hands started to quiver ever so slightly. An uncontrollable desire to kill burned through his mind, nearly destroying his rationality for the coming fight.

The itch in his stomach worsened, spreading to his legs and chest. The speed with which he breathed increased and his heart worked overtime to compensate for the explosion of activity in his body.

For a split-second, his eyes glazed over. Then his vision returned with much greater clarity than before, almost as if it was mimicking the effects that his brain underwent.

His mind alternated between slipping into a red blur of rage and granting his body the ability to act even faster than normally during combat.

He recognized these symptoms briefly before the feeling of recognition disappeared, together with most of his logic-associated thought-processes. What remained was a singled-out, all-consuming desire to maim, harm and kill.

One of the targets stepped forwards and slammed a fist into its chest, producing a dull 'clunk' as the limb impacted on a small chest-plate.

"Our leader would wish to-" The irrelevant lump of flesh barked, but he never got to finish his sentence.

The Spartan flung his ten-inch stainless combat knife at the thing's head with much more force than was necessary, splitting his target's skull in half as the blade lodged into it all the way up to the hilt.

Before anything even had the chance to move after his initiation of violence, he exploded into motion and sprinted towards the group of unfortunate freaks.

The Spartan no longer possessed the ability to predict and overthink. All that remained was action and reaction; a completely instinctive process that made it possible for him to operate with maximum efficiency. He didn't anticipate incoming attacks or movements, and neither did he think of the long-term events of the fight, against the overwhelming numbers.

It made him all the deadlier for it. Metal impacted on flesh as the Spartan clashed with the group, instantly using his superior strength and speed to shatter the skulls of the first two targets he fought with. He lashed out with fists, elbows, legs and feet to crush and break anything that got near him. He brained opponents with jabs and hooks and fragmented necks with uppercuts. Shields, plates of armour and spears all shattered underneath his powerful strikes, while there wasn't a single one amongst the enemy ranks who could manage as much as scratching him.

His energy shielding was simply too efficient for his opponents to harm him. It deflected swords, axes and arrows each and every time a creature wielding such weapons managed to score a lucky strike. Even as the Spartan slowly got surrounded by the massive bodies of the grey-skinned abominations, he kept on murdering. In the red haze of the combat, he had somehow managed to retrieve his knife and was using that to great efficiency too. When he wasn't jamming the large blade into the bodies of his foes, he was busy breaking them or tearing them apart. He moved with machinelike precision while tearing through his enemies even though his mind did not force him to, as maximum efficiency was the one way to reach maximum lethality.

But even though the Spartan did not make wasteful movements, many a foe of his still found themselves missing an arm or a large chunk of their torsos, falling to the ground in a combination of pure terror and overwhelming pain as the realization dawned upon them.

But the Spartan didn't care for that. He didn't feel for that. He didn't even see it. All that he saw were limbs to be broken, necks to be slashed and heads to be crushed. On one occasion he tore off both of the horns of the head of a particularly large specimen and impaled two other hostiles with them, before breaking the spine of the hornless monstrosity and kicking him to the ground.

Another one attacked him with a sweep of an axe, but he dove underneath the sprawling limp and grabbed a hold of the elbow with his left hand, before reaching out and grabbing the beast's neck with his right. Then, he twisted his left hand and pushed his target off balance, allowing him to both crush its neck as taking its axe.

With the large weapon he slashed at two more shapes, killing them with blinding speed as the dark blade sunk deep in their bodies.

Like a grey shadow under the moon he moved, dashing over the sand with a speed that was unmatched by any living thing. He snapped necks, broke backs and crushed skulls with no regard for his own safety. His vision had completely greyed-out, allowing him to see the sharp details of his prey with lethal precision.

Soon, the Spartan's armour was completely drenched in the black blood of his targets. With every limb he severed with either knife or hand, another spurt of blood splashed on his visor.

A large figure lunged towards him, but he simply stepped forwards into the arms of the monster and slammed his elbow in its face, knocking it back. Then he pressed the attack, delivering two rapid uppercuts in succession. His enemy fell, but was replaced by two new ones.

The Spartan didn't pay any heed to their numbers and relentlessly met their attacks, allowing his armour to deflect their strikes before he countered. He jumped towards the open space between the two monstrosities and wrapped a leg around the throat of one of them, bringing him to the ground. At the same time, he slammed his combat knife deep into the throat of the other grey abomination.

While the second one fell, he wrenched at the neck of the first one and killed him too.

He immediately jumped to his feet and spun around to intercept the swing of another hostile, this time bearing a giant mace.

The head of the mace swung through the air and impacted on the ground, while he struck with the palm of his hand at the eight-foot high abomination's abdomen. The attack crushed its internal organs and the monster landed in a heap against a large dune –eight meters away.

The Spartan continued to rampage through the enemy ranks, dealing death-blows left and right and never thinking about his own safety. He did not notice the occasional but nevertheless desperate cry for attention in the back of his mind, as he simply lacked the ability to process it.

He kicked one of the hostiles in the chest, crushing its ribs and probably collapsing its entire chest cavity. While the target went sailing through the air, three more grey-skinned abominations attempted to back up and gain some distance. They were screaming and shouting at him in full terror, but he paid their wasting of breath no mind.

He killed one of them by stabbing the thing in the face, breaching its skull and penetrating its brain. The other one fell when he stepped back and spun his body sideways, slamming his hind leg right against its neck and sending it sprawling to the ground.

But as he punched his last opponent in the chest, shattering all its bones and sending their fragments right into the vulnerable heart hidden behind them, he suddenly found himself without new targets. The field was empty; nothing remained alive except for him.

He stood there with his arm raised in the air, preparing to open up a new head with his leaking knife. The ground was completely littered with bodies, gore and blood. Intestines were as common as limbs and both of them gave way underneath his boots when he moved over the terrain.

The Spartan was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling with every breath he took. His heart was beating faster than humanly possible and his arms were violently shaking. His skin seemed to burn with a fever and drops of sweat were clinging to his forehead. Black blood dripped off of his armour and the ground in a radius of at least fifty meters was completely drenched in gore.

A black shape moved to his left and he immediately spun around to deal with it, raising his leg to deliver a curb-stomp to whatever had dared to close in on him.

A flicker of teeth and a strong message in the back of his mind made him stay his foot long enough for the new target to jump out of the way, after which he forced himself to slowly retract his leg. The presence near his head had been clear enough and throughout the black fog that lay on his senses like a thick carpet, he managed to understand that it was an ally.

Recognition of the creature flooded into his brain and he realized that the fight was over.

He took a few deep breaths and slowly reached for his head, attempting to ease the throbbing headache that had formed. Slowly he managed to regain his senses and rationality and he took a quick look around.

The area was covered with blood, gore and bodies. Dozens of weapons lay broken and scattered with the bodies –and he was standing right in the middle of it all.

He noticed that he was completely covered in blood; the same blood that had been dumped all over the ground. Standing next to him was also black, but that was a good form of black. It was what had been responsible for holding him back when he needed to be held back.

The Spartan looked down at the dragon and took notice of the smears of dark blood over its body. So it hadn't escaped the fight unscathed?

It was just sitting there, looking at him with some strange expression on its angular head. But despite of the dragon's calm demeanor, he still felt a raging torrent of emotions pressing against the back of his head. The dragon was extremely upset with something, that much was sure.

He didn't really care for its feelings though. What he did care for, was whether it was still in once piece or not. The blood sticking to the dragon was as black as the blood he had spilled that night, but that didn't neccesarily have to mean that it was unhurt.

"You alright?" He asked it.

The thing didn't respond to him, but it did hiss and step backwards the very moment he spoke to it. The reptile seemed to be…disturbed…somehow. He knew that he hadn't made the most clean kills that moment, but neither had the wolves been terminated peacefully. What had changed? Did it know these things? Had they scared it?

The Spartan decided that it wasn't really important, as long as the reptile would still follow him to the Varden. He didn't need undying loyalty or whatever; he only needed it to do what he told it.

"Move it," He ordered the dragon and wiped his knife off on the clothes of a nearby body. It was curious to see how these things could be so alien and still so human. Their bodies and even speech had all resembled an ordinary human, except for the fact that they were taller…grey-skinned...horned.

And some of them grew taller than Hunters. But those were most likely the oldest specimens. Their black blood was another strange thing though. Could it be based off of sulfur?

The dragon flashed a sense of severe distress and worry towards him, which he ignored. It shouldn't be worried, their foes were dead. He was having a monumental headache, but he could shake it off without too much trouble. Those dumb brutes had been unable to even lay a finger on him, in no small part due to his shielding.

Still, he saw fit to tell the reptile that he was unhurt. The purpose of the message was to speed it up to such a degree that they could reach the mountains within a few hours, but that proved to be a futile thought. The dragon simply refused to believe that he was unhurt, going as far as to state sheer disbelieve at his statement.

Then it walked over to one of the fallen savages and sniffed at the blood pooling out of it. Then the dragon gave a snort of disgust and quickly darted over towards him, having apparently decided that he was unhurt enough for it to join him.

He took a long look at the creature and concluded that it was completely unhurt itself. It must have jumped at his aid at one point, hence why it had been so close to him when he had finished killing those humanoids. It was brave for doing so, but also very stupid. Even though the dragon was more than ten feet long and high enough to give its enemies some nasty wounds, it wasn't invulnerable It had been wounded by a wolf some time ago and had it been careless, it could have gotten itself killed.

"Did you engage the enemy?" he asked it as he started moving, deciding that he had wasted enough time.

It confirmed his thoughts; as soon as he had attacked the first enemy, the dragon too had leapt into action. Even though the beast wasn't really the pinnacle of warfare, it had still stood its ground against the attacking humanoids…not that it had changed anything. It could have gotten itself wounded or killed and then what? It was obviously a rare and powerful species, so he couldn't let it get killed like that.

But as the Spartan and the dragon continued to march across the desolate plains, the last thing that was on the soldier's mind was the actions that his companion had taken. No, what worried him more was the throbbing headache that refused to go away even after two hours of solid marching. He knew what had happened during the fight and he knew what should happen next…but for some reason, that hadn't happened.

It wasn't the first time he had lost himself in the fight like that. It seemed to happen everytime he went through extensive isolation from the UNSC. Most of the time it would take a week or longer for those effects to show up and even when they did, he had always been able to fight them off. However, the mere fact that he had those strange bouts was a problem. He was a Spartan; discipline and an iron-will were basically what defined him. So it was more than simply worrisome that he could lose his cool like that...especially when he considered that it was completely different from the serene state that his mind usually slipped into combat.

Perhaps he shouldn't have gathered that water for drinking without completely purifying it first. It could have been contaminated with some strange chemical substance…or biological poison. This planet could sustain dragons and humanoid abominations after all, so their biological make-up could be completely different.

Yes…that had to be it. The last time he had slipped into such a black rage had been more than three months back and it had only happened after two weeks of sustained fighting on a world where Insurrectionist forces and Covenant Loyalist forces had been clashing. It hadn't ended very well…for neither of the parties.

So by all rights he should still have a week to go. Either something was advancing the occasional fits of aggression…or he was deteriorating fast.

He could not have that. He needed more control –as soon as he would reach the Mountains, he would…he would think of something.

The Spartan and dragon marched on in silence for the better part of the night, making their way past enormous dunes and wide open plains of nothingness. They encountered neither monsters nor other forms of live, the only things in the dead area of sand being them.

Occasionally, the dragon informed him that it was cold…and tired…and hungry. Always hungry.

'_Glutton…'_ He thought to himself at one point. But they had crossed a measurable distance at that point, their goal was slowly getting in their sights.

'_Curiosity', _ The dragon pointed towards his mind after another thirty minutes of silent traveling.

"Why?"

It showed the Spartan an image of his armour, covered in black goo. He replied to that by looking down at it and shaking his head, letting the reptile know that it wasn't being very communicative there.

It growled softly and lowered its head, looking somewhat disappointed.

The soldier sighed and reached for the assault rifle that he hadn't used in days. The argument of wanting to safe ammunition was slowly getting bleaker with each passing hour and he was starting to wonder just why he hadn't chosen to shoot his way out.

Sure, once his ammo was gone he would have a hard time fighting other enemies, but it wasn't as if they could touch him. Nothing could touch him in this world. Not even in the freezing surroundings of a desert in midnight did he feel uncomfortable, as his suit regulated his temperature well enough.

In a way, the thought made him feel comfortable. He could now literary do whatever it took to complete his objectives. No threats of being found out, cornered by dozens of soldiers wielding plasma weaponry or enemy air support. He was limited only by his creativity.

An army of two-hundred men couldn't stop him; the only thing that stood in his way was time.

And distance, but he was able to compensate for that with ease.

Eventually, the deserted plains ended and made way for a small plateau of rocks, which stretched on for approximately a hundred meters before ending right at the treeline of a large forest.

The Spartan quickly took in his environment and noticed how the large mountain that lay right behind the forest wasn't the only one. It seemed that the Beor Mountains existed out of a large range of peaks, with the most prominent ones being those that reached right into the clouds. He couldn't even see peaks of some mountains; they simply disappeared into the cloudy sky.

So he had reached the Beor Mountains…and now what? How was he supposed to be finding the Varden in such a large area? There could be hundreds of hidden camps and villages spread throughout the range.

"Happen to smell anything?" He asked the dragon while crossing the stone platform leading to the forest. He could visit every single place that showed motion, but that would take weeks. And he didn't want to spend weeks searching for a group, he wanted to leave this world ASAP.

As usual, the dragon did nothing useful and simply indicated that it didn't smell a damn thing. How very predictable. Why couldn't anything be simple once in a while?

He shook his head and entered the forest, thinking of several ways that he could use to get a rough estimation of where to find the Varden group. He could climb one of the mountains and use that to scout the area, but if the rebels were hidden under the trees or at the back of a different mountain, he wouldn't be finding them that way. But if he fired his weapon, something was bound to come and investigate him. And then he could lay an ambush and interrogate whoever came to search for him.

He knew that the sound of a gun could be carried on for many miles by the wind. But…he would rather not lose the element of surprise. If the Varden proved to be hostile to him…well, at that point he would have already revealed himself to them.

It wouldn't matter.

He couldn't decide what to do at the moment just yet. It was wiser to wait for the morning to come and then climb one of the mountainsides, as they were more likely to come out of hiding when the sun was up than in the night.

It was not what he would do, but then again not many people were like him.

'_Rest here,'_ He told the dragon as soon as they reached a place where a few trees had fallen over, forming a natural grove where the reptile could sleep in.

_Hunger_, the dragon let him know.

´_Hurry up,´_ He replied. The group of four dozen humanoids had been heading to the mountains for a reason; they might live there, or they might be migrating to live there. He couldn't take a risk with such creatures around –especially not with his dragon flying about trying to stuff itself.

The black animal was gone for the better part of the night, during which he constantly held his position. Three to four hours went by like that to the point that the sun slowly started to rise on the horizon, bathing the desert that lay behind him in a red and yellow cloak.

Then he heard the flapping of wings and he turned towards the origin of the sound, waiting for his companion to show itself. After half a minute of waiting, the black shape descended through the cover of the leaves, breaking a dozen branches and twigs in the process. Even though its black mass was more than three meters long, he still expected it to be able to handle that mass.

"Quiet," He told the dragon as it folded its large, bat-like wings. "You make too much noise. You want to stay with me, you learn how to be silent. Or I will leave you behind."

The dragon hissed at him indignantly, anger flooding into the Spartan's mind as he felt the extent of its emotions. It was clear to him that the reptile wasn't really amused with that sentence, but there was no other way.

"You messed up. We could have snuck past those hostiles, but you alerted them. That won't happen again."

The dragon brought its jaws together with a loud snap and a large cloud of smoke exited its nostrils. With its front legs, it started to claw at the ground in frustration.

_Unfair,_ the dragon let him know. It thought that he couldn't be disappointed with it? Then it would be in for a surprise.

"Practice," He told it and that was final.

A deep, low rumbling originating from the dragon's throat filled the air, but that disappeared as quickly as it had come.

The Spartan and the dragon spent the rest of the day in silence, making their way to the foot of the mountain and then ascending it. By the time the sun had passed its highest spot in the air, the soldier had just about reached a small platform on the side of the mountain.

The dragon had no problem with flying all the way up to his point, but the wall that the Spartan was climbing was steep and treacherous. Many times he reached for a rock, only for the rock to crumble apart or fall away. At least twice he slid a few meters back down the face of the mountain, only to recover from the fall by digging his hands and feet deep into the rocks.

Of course he remembered the basics of climbing: always keep three limbs to the wall and use your legs instead of your arms to pump your body up. But climbing more than a hundred meters of solid rock was a hard thing to do when one weighed half a ton.

The dragon constantly buzzed around him, trying to point out rocks that he could grab or paths that he could take. Even though it had been pretty mad with him, the creature still tried to help him.

Stupid thing. It should buzz off and let him climb. It might be intelligent enough to spot what he was doing, but the options it gave him were nonsensical or predictable.

After two hours of climbing since he had started, the Spartan had reached the outcropping that he had aimed for. He pulled himself on top of it and got to his feet, very careful as to not misplacing his balance.

When he used the high ground to oversee the place where he was going, he cursed under his breath and clenched his fists.

There was _exactly _the same valley lying in front of him as the one he had left. No trees, no camps and no villages. Nothing.

He had wasted half the day to get up the mountain only to realize that he was one or two valleys too early with doing so.

Damnit.

_Anger?_ The dragon asked him, flashing a sense of curiosity.

He ignored the animal and lowered his body past the outcropping, preparing to slide all the way back down again. He wasn't going to waste the rest of the day with descending the mountain.

The Spartan and the dragon kept on traveling through the Beor Mountains, spending the rest of the day to get to the foot of the next mountain. Zero-zero-seven continued the trend of letting the dragon rest through the night, but while the dragon would rest in its hideout, the soldier would then always sneak out to scout the surrounding areas. As such, he ascended the next mountain in the night between the seventh and eighth day and finally spotted a village.

But it wasn't the village he had been looking for.

What the Spartan saw was a city of strange architecture, where more than four-hundred individuals had gathered together. He spotted more than a dozen fires where the figures roasted animals and made other kinds of food, but he wasn't yet convinced that this was the group he had been looking for. There was something off…something was wrong.

He hit the magnification on his visor and zoomed in on the area. His MJOLNIR MK VI had been upgraded with quite a few options and functions when compared to the MK V version. The Master Chief had been the lucky one to first wear the suit in combat, right before the Battle of Earth. During the first weeks of combat, the remaining kinks had been worked out of the Mark Six and the Secret-Spartans were outfitted with the newest edition. Most of them had been recalled back to Earth to defend mankind's home-world against the incoming Covenant attack. And they had only known of the attack because the Master Chief had been able to hi-jack a Covenant vessel after the events on the first Halo, before intercepting a Covenant message that they were preparing a fleet to invade Sol.

He had read the report of OPERATION: FIRST STRIKE, as called by the surviving SPARTAN-II"s.

The Chief and the few other survivors of Halo had recovered some Spartans from Reach's surface, before they had jumped to the enormous Space-station that the Covenant had been using to refuel their fleet: the Unyielding Hierophant.

They had sabotaged the station and lured the fleet there, destroying more than five-hundred Covenant vessels once it overloaded.

The Chief and his team had been hailed as heroes and once they had returned to Earth, he had received the first edition of the Mark Six armour.

He remembered how Secret-Spartans and normal Spartans had been fighting together to save the Earth, but they could never have met each other. As such, there had been no fighting side by side for them. They all had their missions and assignments and the like, but the younger Spartans couldn't have joined the older ones in combat

That was because he and the others didn't exist. Nobody was supposed to find out about them…so ONI had kept them a secret even when they had been giving their everything for Earth.

A sudden change in the environment brought the Spartan back to his scouting and he took another good look at the large valley. The four-hundred figures had received reinforcement: another two groups, each spanning more than a hundred warriors, had poured into the valley through other entrances. He realized that there were those amongst the groups that stood way taller than the rest, just like the eight-foot tall humanoids he had fought in the desert. They were the same species…the grey-skinned, horned humanoids.

So these were more of the hostiles…six-hundred more. And they were amassing in the middle of the night in the Beor Mountains…for what? Had they found the bodies and decided to come and search for him?

No…it was yet too early for that. He had only killed those fifty individuals last night. Unless…their marching tempo had been very high.

Were they here for him or for the Varden? He could handle six-hundred primitively armed hostiles. But the Varden? If they were a rebel group that consisted out of humans with swords and spears…they would get massacred.

The Spartan considered his previous theory about high-ranking Insurrectionist personnel having staged all this and discarded it. It was impossible for humans to stage such a giant illusion, as he had spent more than seven days and nights on the move. He had seen cities, forests and lakes that all indicated that the entire country was so primitive.

Then he decided that the reason for this world to be so primitive lay with some calamity that had happened in the past, forcing everyone to start anew. Perhaps it had something to do with these extremely fast-growing dragons?

He could sneak down there, assassinate their groups standing guard and then eavesdrop on them. But…there was very little cover down there. They would see him before he could get the drop on them and that would mean combat…combat that the dragon could feel, as it had also responded to his aggression against the previous group.

Neither could he stay hidden halfway down the slope of the mountain, as the crumbling rocks and stones would give him away.

No…he couldn't risk eavesdropping on those things. They wouldn't even understand him; just because humans spoke English, these creatures would not automatically speak English too.

The whole language-thing only served to prove his theory. The language of the humans was equal to his own, so they couldn't have evolved on their own. They had to be descendants from UNSC forces.

And they had been attacked because the people living there were Insurrectionists. And Captain Wren had been alone in this world for more than a week now…

If he couldn't find that dropship and contact the _When Duty Ends_ soon, he might never be able to return to the UNSC.

He pushed those thoughts away and returned to his dragon. He couldn't risk a confrontation, but he needed to be very careful in moving.

He sought out the consciousness of the reptile and sent a small probe of thoughts into its mind.

'_We're moving.'_

An vague and blurry image flashed into his mind and he caught a brief sense of terror, before the dragon fully woke up and replied to his statement.

It was curious and didn't want to go.

'_We got trouble,'_ He told it and gently tugged at one of the horns on its neck, pulling it upright. Between them arriving near the Mountains and now, the dragon had grown an additional feet in height. It was growing at a ridiculous pace, as it now stood almost as tall as a fully-grown man.

It sure did tower above Grunts.

The dragon stated that it wanted to eat the trouble next. _Hunger_.

"That won't work," He agitatedly replied and together, in the middle of the night, they disappeared again.

The Spartan quickly found a small river running through the indent where the feet of two large mountains met. He knew that rivers generally led to civilization, so the Varden sure had to be at the end of it. It was a stroke of luck for him to have found it, as he needed any and all leads that indicated where the mysterious group of rebels had founded themselves. And water was a perfect place for that.

Soon, the sun rose up in the sky once more and signaled the start of the eight day in Alagaesia. The Spartan didn't encounter any other enemies, but he stayed on his guard nonetheless. Nothing would ambush him on his way to the Varden, that much he was sure of. And even though he had spotted the occasional groups of humanoids marching through the mountains, their tempo was just too low for them to catch up to him.

During the day, he started teaching the dragon all sorts of things. He had felt their bond growing stronger over the course of the week and he did not understand a thing about it. But he did understand that the dragon was more intelligent than he had credited it for, even after he had understood its humanlike intellect. Had he wanted to, he could have held an entire conversation with it purely by mental images and smells. It insisted on hunting for itself and he let he fly whenever it wanted too, but he never lost the mental contact with the dragon. Even after he had climbed another mountainside to investigate the next valley, where he had witnessed his dragon flying away until he could barely see it without zooming in, he had not lost contact with the dragon.

And he hated it. He hated that the strange effect that his touch had created had manifested itself in such a tight link between him and the animals. He could feel what it felt and everytime the dragon did something, he was aware of the constant buzzing in the back of his mind.

But that link was not only annoying, it was also extremely dangerous. So when the sun started to set, signaling the end of the eight day, he decided to make camp and put up some ground-rules.

"Listen up," He told the reptile, "This link between us is dangerous and useless. If we are going to do anything, you will need to do exactly what I say."

_Amused._

"Physical rules," He told the thing, pretending he hadn't felt its amusement at his statement, "You will move silently. You will only hunt after having determined the area to be clear and you will attempt to hide your tracks. Affirmative?"

_Amused._

"Mental rules: whatever happens, you stay away from my memories and my thoughts. I don't need you poking around when I am fighting, clear?"

A snort, a plume of smoke and: _agreement._

"What is the status of your mental skills?"

_Confusion._

He sighed, understanding that the dragon might think him to be vague. "You read my thoughts, right?"

_Agreement._

"Can you read other thoughts?"

There was a brief moment of silence, before: _agreement._

The Spartan wanted to tell the dragon that it should practice its mental abilities, so that it might survive better. But it was going with the UNSC…so that they might learn from it.

On the other hand…he knew just how willing ONI was to gain an advantage for mankind. And as willing as they were, he was more willing. But if ONI ever got their hands on the dragon, they would most likely dissect it.

Alive. And then keep it for further experiments.

Did he really want to impose such a fate onto the dragon? The creature that was so deeply bonded to him?

No, he did not. They needed to figure out a way to break the bonds between him and the reptile before they did anything to it. And perhaps…perhaps he could find them a different dragon to keep, so that this one could live.

But what if the other specimens were weaker than this one? There was so much that ONI could learn from this creature, they might even figure out a way to reproduce the telepathic effects.

And he was all too aware of what such a gain could bring. He would not scale humanity against the dragon, as he would pick humanity every single time. If the dragon needed to die for mankind to live, so be it.

The Spartan decided to call it a day. His shelter on the slope of the mountain was more than sufficient enough for the dragon to sleep in if it curled itself up tightly. Its shoulders now stood as high as his own shoulders. Soon, it would be large enough for a man to ride it.

Not that he would ride the dragon, of course. His weight would probably break the dragon's back –and such an intimate act would mean that he and the reptile had grown closer to each other. He preferred to see the thing as an asset, rather than a person.

As the dragon curled its tail tightly against its body to prepare for the night, the Spartan decided that he wanted to spent a few more hours scouting the terrain like he usually did. He made his way to the other side of the mountain by means of careful climbing and walking and eventually, he was in an optimal position to overlook the next valley.

But there no such valley. The moon stood high in the sky and bathed the land underneath him in a strange, bluish-white light. It looked like he had reached the end of his current mountain-rage, as the plains that lay stretched out before him were surrounded on all sides by other peaks and spikes. Directly in front of him lay a small lake, where a large river ended in. The river ran all the way into the mountains on the other side, where it disappeared into the entrance of a new valley. The largest peaks –the ones that reached into the clouds- stood to his right, while his left was dominated by barren plains that looked like they belonged to the desert.

It seemed that the desert reached into the Beor Mountains in more ways than one.

A glistering light caught his attention and he turned to face the new source of light. Or rather, reflection, as the only light-source in these mountains was the moon. But what he saw was more interesting than any light-source or normal reflection. He could only see what it was by hitting the zooming function in his visor, but once he did he decided that he had to be going in the right direction.

It was a dragon. Just barely visible due to the moonlight, but the distinctive sparkling that had annoyed him about his own dragon – the glare that shone like a beacon to anything hostile -was very much present in the one he was spotting right now. It looked…blue and grey. The dragon was way bigger than the one he had, that was for sure.

The problem was that he had not seen that dragon before in the Beor Mountains. So it had either been there the whole time, or it had just flown in. But…shouldn't someone have seen it then?

He turned his gaze over the landscape while the dragon disappeared into the next valley and spotted a small group of figures traveling towards the entrance to the valley. He couldn't yet make out what they were or how many there were, as they were still too far away for him to make their details even with his zoom. The flying reptile had been flying over them…attacking them or escorting them?

He wasn't sure, but the appearance of this dragon was interesting...and if his information was correct, this dragon had to be bonded to the farm-kid. The one that was wanted throughout the empire; the one that the King wanted for some reason.

Was the dragon here to seek out the Varden or to fight it? Had this boy made up his mind yet?

One way or the other, it would be a good choice to follow them. They had to be here to seek out the rebel group, one way or the other.

And now that he knew which direction to go –namely not towards the giant peaks- he was one step closer to his goal.

The Spartan made his way back to the small plateau where his dragon was sleeping and decided to catch some shut-eye too. He had been constantly pushing himself for the past eight days now and he hadn't been able to sleep more than four to five hours each night. And while three hours per night was more than sufficient, he didn't like the thought of him not grabbing sleep while he could. It was foolish and idiotic for a soldier to deprive himself when that wasn't necessary.

He consumed the last nutrient bar and then lied down, preparing to sleep again. His armour wasn't the most comfortable thing to sleep in, but it would be more than enough. He had slept in worse conditions.

He managed to spend the night without being wakened too many times by the snoring of his dragon. Even though he had only fallen asleep in the middle of the night, he had still managed to catch the few necessary hours of sleep that would allow him to keep going.

He knew that sleep was as dangerous a weapon as any gun, but so was time. And if the blue dragon he had seen that night had been moving nonstop, he would have lost a lot of time.

He needed to compensate for that.

The soldier grabbed his combat knife and inspected it for any damage. The blade was precisely ten inches long and black as the night. To further supplement the nonreflective properties, the metal had been handled with a special chemical substance. No matter how bright the light sources aimed at him got, his knife wouldn't give him away. The point was streamlined and sharpened to the point that he could easily stab it through bone and most Covenant Combat Harnesses. Just like a machete, the lower edge of the blade was fit for delicate work, while the upper edge was suited for hacking. There lower edge was serrated, so that the knife would inflect gruesome damage when pulled out, but not to the extent that the knife would get caught on bones or plates of armour.

It was the perfect knife for him.

The Spartan then woke his dragon up, stepped back to avoid a ferocious kick aimed at his head and frowned.

"Watch it," He growled at the reptile and grabbed his Assault Rifle, attaching it to his back.

The dragon slowly roused itself and looked around with its big, yellow eyes.

_Confusion_.

Whatever. "What's wrong?" He asked it. The dragon had never actually initiated hostilities with him. Annoying worry and frustration, sure, but never actual violent feelings. So what was the dragon thinking that it could openly attack him?

The overgrown lizard then flashed him some messed-up collection of visions and images: he saw a few wolves, a black flash and then a woman with blood-red hair. Then a white flash and the group of horned humanoids, before and after he had ripped them apart.

The images faded away and he looked at his dragon again, trying to make sense of what he had seen. It was the reason that his dragon had lashed out at him…but whatever that reason was supposed to be, he had no clue.

Well, the dragon had been sleeping. Perhaps it was just some instinctive motion brought upon by his attempts to wake it?

In the end, he decided that it didn't really matter. Just another useless event.

The Spartan and his dragon moved down the mountainside and made their way to the river. The current valley was easily the largest one yet; the river alone could be long enough to compare to the trip between Petrovya and the first mountain of the Beors.

The hours faded away underneath the burning sun, but they only stopped twice during the four hours it took them the reach the two mountains looming next to the entrance to the subsequent valley. Once for him to retrieve some water and once for the dragon to rest its wings.

He wasn't planning on making a mad dash through the mountains, but he had receiving ghost-signals on his motion tracker with increasing frequency and he did not like it. Usually when his radar pinged targets for him, he was perfectly capable of telling where they were or where the signals were coming from.

But now? Nothing.

It was worrisome. He did not know where a possible attack could come from and that made the dragon vulnerable. He needed to devise a tactic to deal with a surprise attack, in case such a thing came. So he quickly thought of a way to get the dragon to safety should they get attacked and once he had thought of the best way, he discussed it with his companion.

The dragon didn't agree.

He didn't press the issue.

The sun was at its highest point in the sky by the time they both arrived near the end of the large valley. He still couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong…something very near to him. The dragon was still walking after him, as he had ordered it to stay close to the ground in case of an attack.

The Spartan carefully took in his environment, making sure that there weren't any hidden enemies waiting for him to lower his guard. He didn't spot gunmen or other ranged combatants…but he knew that there was something out there. Something was watching them, he was certain.

'_Do you feel that?'_ He asked the reptile.

Is disagreed with him. Curious; so the dragon didn't feel the hostile presence? He knew that he wasn't imagining it, so…there had to be something else going on.

He continued to march towards the narrowing of the two mountains, his assault rifle at the ready. He knew that there was something out there and any moment now, it could jump out and surprise him.

He passed through the opening and spun from the left flank to the right one with the barrel of his gun, trying to take in every single ledge, stone and cave that he spotted. His finger edged on the trigger, itching to pull.

Zero-zero-seven wasn't nervous. Neither was he anxious. His mind was in a serene state that seemed to come and go with the anticipating sensations of trying to predict an ambush. He was walking on the edge of a razor-sharp knife when doing so; falling to one side would allow him to calm down and ease his body, but falling to the other side meant slipping into the grey state of combat where years of training and experience took his body completely over.

But if everything went right, he would not slip into that black rage again.

Pebbles crunched underneath his boots and each with each stop he took, the sunlight lessened. The mountains were in a perfect position to block out the sun. Had the dragon and its rider stopped here in an attempt to ambush here?

No, he would have spotted them and his own dragon would smell its own kin. Whatever was stalking him could not be human or dragon. It had to be extremely gifted in stealth to be able to hide from his trained eyes.

A soft tickling near the back of his skull –he turned around with his rifle already brought to his shoulder, finger on the trigger and safety flicked off. The moment he caught something in his sights, he would squeeze off a lethal salvo and kill it.

There wasn't anything there.

A rock hit the ground and he spun around, just in time to see a redheaded figure dashing towards his dragon, which was still standing on the ground with its head cocked to the side.

"Move!" He shouted at the dragon, sending it an image of a bird in the sky while doing so. It was what he had thought of when he realized that they might be being hunted; he would the dragon that image only when it needed to fall back ASAP.

The message was understood and as the dragon flashed its agreement, he opened fire. Three bullets exploded out of the barrel of his gun and sped towards the human-shaped enemy, but it was way too fast and jumped away.

Nevertheless, he still managed to score a hit and two of the rounds impacted on the target's abdomen, exploding outwards as they tore right through its body.

The Spartan half expected a thin red trail to splash over the ground, indicating a successful hit. But that didn't happen.

And as the dragon spread its wings and jumped in the air, gaining altitude as the wind got caught behind the thin, black membrane growing over the bones, he tied to get another bead on his target.

The hostile reappeared approximately half a dozen meters in front of him, standing on top of a boulder as it eyed him and the dragon trying to fly away from them.

It –no, she- was very thin and very pale, with dark red eyes and hair. The hostile had a body fit for moving fast, but not at the blinding speeds that it had moved to distract him. Her appearance was as jarring as it was familiar. He knew that slim frame and arrogant expression.

He knew what this was, but that was impossible. He had pinned her body down with one arm and pulled the vertebrae in her neck apart from each other, effectively breaking her entire neck. No recovery was possible from that, as the brain simply did not receive any signals anymore.

She was the woman he had killed.

"You are dead," He told her, not believing that this was the same woman he had murdered eight to nine days ago. "I killed you."

She pouted her lips, her eyes practically oozing malice. "You impaired my corporeal form...forcing me to become disembodied as I reappeared in spirit form. But my body manifested later…stronger than before."

He couldn't believe that such a killing maneuver hadn't killed her. There was only one lifeform capable of such regeneration and that was not this –he knew that this woman could not be like that. Still, the semblance was extremely close.

It made him want to slaughter her. But he could not allow his mind to slip now, as he would lose the chance to save his dragon. She had to be after the hatched reptile and he could not allow that.

"It seems that the egg hatched for you…_rider,"_

'_Rider?'_ He thought. That term had been used before. So the empire thought him important?

"Who are you?"

"My name is not important. The king wants you alive…my partner wants you dead. I am inclined to follow her orders…unless you are a good abomination and come with me, that is."

The Spartan felt the urge to shoot her again, but she would just pop up again if he didn't do it right. He needed to buy his time and perhaps find out how to kill her.

"Who is your partner?" He asked her, seeking to win time for his dragon to get away. He had ordered it to flee and he was certain that if he could buy the reptile some time, he could dispatch of this woman without too much difficulty.

The creature briefly flashed its eyes to her side and while she did, he opened fire. Two bullets tore through the sky and sailed to her head, but she twisted around and dodged the bullet.

She had begun her motion as soon as she had turned her eyes, so he could not kill her that easily. This one was clever.

The woman burst into a sprint that was only rivalled by a Spartan starting to sprint, heading to the same direction that his dragon had flown to –and she was quickly gaining speed.

He couldn't risk missing the shot and allowing the monster to reach his dragon.

The Spartan then placed his rifle back at the magnetic slots on his back and exploded into action as well, digging his heels deep into the gravel-like ground underneath his feet. Shadows were creeping onto the shadows as the sun slowly continued to set.

The redheaded woman was fast –extremely fast. She was sprinting with a speed that surpassed charging brutes. He was forced to burst into a flat-out sprint in order to overcome her lead. The ground became a blur underneath his own body as he raced across the surface. The steady thumping of his boots thundering across the surface of the valley echoed in his ears and he felt the muscles in his legs warm because of the movements.

He placed one leg in front of the other in a constant rhythm, using his arms only to force his body further into the sprinting state, barely keeping balance as rocks shattered like fragmentation grenades underneath his boots. The female had an amazing starting speed; it had taken her only a few second to reach a top-speed, while it took him a few seconds to do so.

It allowed the creature to quickly outrun him for a few seconds and he could see that she had no trouble in dodging the many obstacles in her way. Rocks, branches and even lone trees were woven past as if they were intangible. The woman moved with an elegance and precision that chilled him.

But he surpassed her in speed. Even though she pumped her legs as hard as she could, avoiding the obstacles he could not, his MJOLNIR made it possible for him to reach speeds up to sixty miles per hour. He couldn't keep that up for very long, but it was obvious that she was after his dragon.

And that meant war. Time slowed down as the super-soldier's adrenaline glands worked overtime to pour as much juice into his body as possible. He saw the form of his companion in the sky, flapping its wings frantically as it tried to outspeed the monster that was its pursuer. Its black wings caught the occasional ray of light, betraying its exact position to the two following inhuman creatures.

He jumped over a rock, reaching a height of several meters, before landing on the ground. He never broke stride as he did and he kept a very close eye on the redheaded demon, who was sprinting through the varies bends and corners that the thin river offered them with no difficulty at all. Her athletic abilities reminded him of Secret-Spartan zero-zero-nine, who was by far the most athletic Spartan.

She would not lose this target and neither would he. He smashed through the occasional branches sticking out from the rocks and quickly accelerated to a speed of more than sixty kilometers per hour. The dragon appeared like a blur to those watching it from the ground, he was sure of that. It would attract more attention, that was bound to happen.

Its thoughts brushed against his mind and he felt how very terrified it was; the tidal waves of emotions were threatening to outbalance him, so he banished them from his head. But not before he understood how the two of them appeared to the dragon: two monsters racing over the ground with speeds greater than that of a dragon flying at full speed. It was not accustomed to living beings being able to keep up with it –which was strange, as it had only lived for eight days. How did it know that?

The redheaded woman was unfazed by the many obstacles in her way and her red hear flashed around her shoulders like a fire; equally exotic and equally lethal. He knew that this creature was dangerous and if she got her hands on his dragon, she would murder it before he could stop her.

That was not going to happen.

His heart throbbed in his throat and his legs were burning, but not because of the acid that was formed in the muscles. He could sprint like that for a long time. No, what he felt was the desire to go faster. To be better than that.

He flew across the terrain and slowly, he got closer to the redhead. Even her frantic jumping from one side of the mountain to the other could not save her; she was gaining ground on the dragon fast, but he was gaining on her faster.

The dragon flashed him a desperate message that it couldn't keep going like that for much longer and he cursed under his breath. The woman's hand slowly extended to the dragon even as time continued to suspend her movements in honey. He could see the tendons on her legs, the powerful muscles rippling underneath her deadly-pale skin as she launched herself from one rock to the other.

The flying reptile couldn't ascend fast enough. The desperate flight through the narrow aerial paths was taking too much of its concentration and it just couldn't get out of the demonic woman's reach.

The mountainsides didn't allow that. They were too narrow up there. He had to save her _now_.

His foe missed her grab and jumped to the right to dodge a rock outcropping that was blocking her way/

He did not and smashed right through the stone like an armoured missile. The impact jarred his teeth and drained his shields but he shrugged that off with impunity. He was too close now, he couldn't mess this up.

The woman made a second grab and her hand extended towards the scared dragon once again. Now was his change.

He stopped using his hands as balancing and reached out too, while his time-perception allowed him to calculate his movements once more with machine precision.

A smile of triumph appeared on the female's face, her features contorting into a feral smile of victory as she finally reached her prey. Sharp teeth were lined across her jaw in the place of normal human teeth, giving her a shark like appearance.

Her pale, spiderlike fingers closed-

-around thin air as his own unyielding gauntlet wrapped itself around her other hand, pulling her back and preventing her from grasping the legs of his dragon in a deadly grip.

He swung his own legs forwards and tore the woman out of the sky.

She screamed in annoyance and pain as their combined momentum continued to carry them through the sky and she attempted to place him in the way of the incoming obstacles.

No way. He increased the intensity of his grip and crushed the bones of her wrist into small fragments. Her skin erupted and black shadows poured out of it for a split-second, before her skin mended again. But he kept his grip on her wrist and her bones couldn't heal fast enough.

The two of them reached the point where their uncontrolled tumbling through the air got them nowhere but the ground and as his knee-guard skidded across the ground, his shields flared again. But once one of their limbs had touched the ground, there was no escape. They slammed into the ground with enough force to kill any normal human instantly from the sheer blunt force trauma alone.

A series of quick jabs jerked through his bones and he disengaged from the female, but not before he placed both of his legs against her torso and gave a violent pull.

The arm that he had been holding on to tore off from her body and the sudden withdrawal of forces split them up.

The female slammed into a wall, while he slammed an armoured gauntlet deep into the ground to prevent his mass from going too far.

His body slapped against the stones with a sudden halt and one final impact drained his shields one final time.

Sixty percent remained. More than enough.

He shook off the shock that followed in the wake of the high-speed chase and jumped to his feet.

The crumpled form of the woman still lay on the ground, moaning and groaning as she tried to recover from the damage she had taken.

But once he moved closer to her, she realized that he was about to deliver a killing blow and laughed at him.

"You have fire in your mind, demon!" She chuckled and rolled to her back, wrapping her remaining arm around her waist. A few bones sprung back into her body as her ruined chest-cavity healed itself. "I will enjoy prying you out of your suit and toying with you!"

He kicked her against her chest and sent her body flying into the stone wall, where she could start her damn regeneration all over again.

He felt the consciousness of his dragon reaching out again, but he pushed it away. The reptile had gotten away safely, that was important.

"What did you do, use magic to enhance your dragon? Yourself?" She sneered at him.

He ignored her comments and pulled out his sidearm, knowing just how to shut her up.

"You don't even know of magic, do you?" The female coughed and crawled backwards, trying to gain distance. "You don't know how I survived and grew stronger from your attack, do you now…idiot!"

Magic? Right. This smelled like bioengineering to him.

"I'm just going to come back an- argh!" She squealed once he closed his right gauntlet around his throat. Her remaining arm came up to punch him in his face, but he blocked it with his elbow and displaced his hand. He punched right through her abdomen and, with a wet crunch, wrapped his fingers around her spine.

She screamed and laughed at the same time, her skin growing paler with every second. Dark spots appeared on her legs and torso, but he paid those no mind.

"I am going to haunt you when I come back! And my master is going to torture you to the brink of insanity…for the rest of your pitiful life!" She spat at him.

He only allowed her to finish talking because he needed information. "What magic?" He barked at her, increasing the hold on her spine. Her skin and crushed organs were already regenerating around his hand, but he kept a deadly grip on her bone. This was beyond all normal forms of bioengineering or even alien influence –something else was going on here.

"Check…your…hand…" She gasped. "And know…that you will become a slave…to Raia! I am going to rape your mind and stick-"

He increased the grip on her spine and shattered the segment that he held in his gauntlet. Then, with a lightning-quick gesture, he pressed his sidearm against her forehead and pulled the trigger.

"Stick that in your little skull…" He muttered and got to his feet. The female screamed and trashed and finally, she exploded in a cloud of shadows, which quickly faded away.

And this time she had better stay dead.

A sudden gale of wind whipped the discharged round across the ground and he turned around to look at his dragon.

'_You protected me from a Shade,'_ A feminine voice told him. It was filled with admiration and awe, but it also held something else. There was a certain melancholy…combined with aching.

He turned to the dragon, the only living being currently with him. "Shut up," He told it and turned back to inspect the place where she Shade had died.

Something was off…very off. Her words plagued his thoughts and he couldn't help but shake the feeling that he was missing something. Something obvious…something big.

He turned to the dragon, frowned and stood up again.

"Did you just…?" He asked it.

'_Lastly, you require a name. A respectable one.'_ The same voice said.

Why was there a teenage girl speaking in his head?

"You talked?" He asked the dragon that, he had come to realize, was actually a she.

The creature snorted and crawled closer to him, bringing her head as close to his head as he allowed her. And the moment he wanted to push her back, she stopped. Her head was on equal heights with his and her large, slit eyes held more wisdom than they should have at her age.

'_Yes, I did. Who else? Now for your name.'_

"Do you have a name?" He asked her.

She was silent for two minutes, during which her consciousness probed his whole mind. It bounced off of mental walls, stayed away from areas that it shouldn't be nosing around in and finally slipped into the tight hole that he had created just for it –her. The small place where she could observe what he observed and share emotions and thoughts with him, but nothing else.

Suddenly, the intrusive tendril plunged itself deep into a crack he hadn't known existed in his mind and it reveled in other aspects of his mind. There wasn't anything in the new hole it created that could harm her, but he still didn't take kindly to her doing that.

"Stop it!" He ordered her and pushed her head away.

'_My name,'_ She told him impatiently, '_Is Aeraleth. I believe it fits me, after my time with you as rider.'_

"…what?" He asked her, feeling confused.

What had just happened?

~0~

"_Check voice-frequencies one…two…three…this is Mental Health Specialist Jennifer Sunfield, lead psychologist working with the Section Seven of the Office of Naval Intelligence. I have finally received a full report concerning the Augmentations. There is the Carbide Ceramic Ossification for near-unbreakable bones, superconducting fibrification of Dendrites…and several other enhancements that turn children into killing-machines. What the higher-ups did not want me to find out however, was the presence of at least three different kinds of drugs in this series. This…worries me. But I cannot linger on these uncertainties, as I have other work to do."_

- Logbook entry (2), MHS Jennifer Sunfield, 30th of May, 2547

~0~

_For those of you still with me: our lovely Raia is still not down for the count. Fun fact: Shades grow stronger when they 'die'. _


	5. Secret Spartan pt II

_Hey everyone, back with more. _

_**Kain Everguard: **__I know, it's too bad :( _

_**Anon: **__ Oh yes…she is._

_**Jcraft596: **__Unless she somehow sneaks in a second attempt. And perhaps the dragon will, or perhaps not :D_

_**The Blue Tigrex: **__The shade will return._

_**xXPerceptionXx: **__Thanks._

_**ILikedabubbles: **__First sight will be a long sight._

_**Sierra110: **__I believe that the chief reached the 80 mph, but I could be wrong._

_Also, graveminds grow stronger when their enemies die too :3_

_**Solar Jarl The Cannon King 44K: **__A classic twist? The segment we are at now is Arya, Eragon and Murtagh having reached the Varden 3 days ago._

_Also…I made the name up. I do not believe it holds any significant meaning…yet._

_**The Reviewer:**__…I do plan on making Inheritance POV's once they have all met up_

_**Water Guardian 26: **__There will be plenty of room for scars later._

_**The Darkest Blaze: **__Thanks_

_**Tuutje07: **__Yeah, our Spartan loves killing…does he?_

_There might be a point where he would have to fight without his armour, but there might also not be :3_

_**Devil549: **__Yes, I will!_

_**Prometheus-C626: **__Ehm…I don't get it? _

_**Edboy4926: **__Thanks, I will._

~0~

"_Lord Däthedr?"_

"_What is it Tanamo?"_

"_I have heard unsettling news from Ília Fëon. It is said that a metal star fell out of the sky, south of their city but west of the Dvergar outpost Hedarth. Shall we investigate?"_

"_Such is not our place, Tanamo. We must wait. And see what happens."_

"_Yes my lord."_

Conversation between elven Lord Däthedr and elven warrior Tanamo, One day after UNSC Planet incursion.

~0~

"You have a name?" The Spartan asked the dragon, feeling like he had been played somehow. The voice in his head –as weird as it sounded to him- was very much real. And the only creature that had even the slightest access to his mind was his dragon. The black-scaled creature even acted like she was the one who had talked to him.

And seeing as his mental link with the reptile had been growing so deep as that it allowed it – her- to send him messages in the form of smells, images and feelings. Words had to be what, the next step?

'_Everything has a name. You and I are no different.'_

Right. He didn´t remember giving his gun a name and neither had he given this…thing…a name.

"Where did you get that name?" He asked her.

'_From your mind. That is, the assurance that it suited me came from there. The name…I already knew.'_

"Which assurance?"

She snorted loudly and a puff of smoke blew out of her nostrils. '_You are making it very hard for me to read you. Don't. Give in and relax your mind.'_

"No," He told her and repressed the urge to plant his fist against the rock wall. Before _this_ happened, the dragon had just been another asset. With a humanlike intelligence and demeanor, but nothing more. An animal that could send telepathic messages over the course of a few days of mental contact. An asset to the UNSC if they could reproduce that effect.

But now that it talked…he had specifically chosen not to give the dragon anything that could define it as a person. He hadn't given her a name, he hadn't tried to take care for it and he hadn't ever tried to think of it as more than an asset. That was the way he wanted to go if he wanted to give her to ONI.

But now that she spoke to him with intelligence that surpassed most humans –now that she had a _name_…he couldn't do that anymore.

The stupid thing had blown away any changes he had at dumping it. Now…he wasn't so sure whether he could that. "When did you learn to talk?"

The dragon's tail whipped over the ground and a few rocks skidded over the ground. '_Just now. It is hard to explain…'_

"Then don't. Shut up and keep moving."

She growled –a deep, rumbling noise that originated from deep down her throat. '_Do not think to treat me like some child. You are my rider, my partner-of-heart. But that does not place you above me.'_

The Spartan turned to face the suddenly aggressive-sounding creature and placed his pistol back in the holster. The body of the creature that…Aeraleth…had referred to as a Shade had long since disappeared; he didn't have anything else to do there. But the attitude of the dragon was a problem –and one that he had to deal with before he went anywhere. It was late afternoon and he held no desire to argue longer than was necessary.

"Experience does. I told you earlier to do exactly as I said."

The dragon stomped with a claw against the ground, pulverizing several rocks with the violent movement. '_I am thankful for you saving me from that horror, but do not presume to know better than me. The wisdom and knowledge of my ancestors runs through my blood!'_

"Then use it," He told the rebellious dragon and turned away. Her comment about wisdom and knowledge was strange. There were things like instinct, for sure. But to have inherited knowledge purely by having been born? That was silly.

The river had stopped near a few rocks, where it continued in an underground body of water. The rest of the creek had dried out and the way they needed to go was devoid of water. He could not follow it any longer…so much for the 'follow the river' plan. "Next time we encounter such a thing, I want you to be ready."

'_I agreed to obey you like a pet because of the moment. We had just been attacked by Urgals and….'_

The dragon fell silent for a few seconds, before a slight tremor ran through her body. Then she lowered her head and took a step forwards. Her voice echoed in his head again and this time, her tone was more lenient. '_Your mind and body don't feel like those of an elf…but neither are they of a human. I feel foolish for asking…but why don't you feel like a human? I know you are, by our bond. But I cannot feel the prove.'_

"An elf?" He asked her. All that talking about magic and elves and magically regenerating and disappearing girls was…less than enlightening. "What?"

She stepped closer to him and curved her neck so that her head faced him. '_You do not know of elves, of shades or magic?'_ She asked him, surprise evident in her tone. '_Where did you come from?'_

"From-"

The Spartan stopped himself from talking and gave his next reply some more thought. He didn't know about magic and elves because they didn't exist. The dragon didn't know about other planets, aliens or space travel. His answer would only confuse her…but he didn't really think like coming up with some excuse.

He resumed talking, albeit more carefully. "I came from a different place. Far away."

That seemed to confuse the dragon. '_You are not from this land? Did you come from overseas?'_

"No…a different world." An idea suddenly popped up in his mind. "From the stars."

'_The stars?'_ The dragon replied in shock and immediately took a few steps backwards. '_Do not speak nonsense. Nothing lives there.'_

This was really hard to explain. "Humans live on many worlds. I thought that this world had been colonized by my people."

The dragon seemed to have a lot of trouble digesting that information. '_But…how did you come here then? And why did you bond to a dragon egg? I do not understand your reasoning.'_

"You're a dragon. Deal with it."

She growled again and walked past him. '_You spout nonsensical explanations for your origins and I am the one to deal? Your lack of respect is troubling! What will you do once you meet people that care not for your well-being, contrary to me?'_

She cared for his wellbeing? "Depends on whether I need them."

'_If not?'_

"I kill them."

'_Hunt only when you need to hunt.'_

"Like I said."

He glanced at the position where the 'Shade' had died once more and decided that he had better things to do than arguing with a telepathic dragon. He had a rebel group to reach. Empires to overthrow.

"Want to come?" He asked the dragon and took a step towards the dried-up creek, where another long journey lay ahead of them.

'_Of course I wish to come!'_ The dragon replied. '_I am a dragon, not some coward!'_

Whatever.

Together with the dragon, he continued marching. While he hated the fact that she was capable of speech now, he still saw the strategic benefit of her doing so. Barring the possibility of ONI dissecting her, he could now communicate to great levels with her. Tactics, strategies and battle-plans didn't need to be spoken aloud for her to understand them anymore.

Having recovered from her initial bout of anger, the dragon had decided to be curious instead. She asked him many questions and he tried his best to answer them without compromising security. She still didn't understand that he came from a different planet, but she did accept the fact that he was a human having come from the stars.

And they left it at that.

'_Where did your armour come from?'_

He tried his best to focus on speaking telepathically, but that didn't work out with sentences longer than half a dozen words. "My people made it. For soldiers like me."

'_Like you?'_

"Humans from my world are physically similar to humans from this one."

'_But you held the strength to murder a Shade with your bare hands.'_

"I am not similar."

'_Then what are you if not elf?'_

"A Spartan."

The dragon's eyes flashed upwards when she spotted a bird flying overhead. '_And that is?'_

"What you will call me."

'_Ah, is it your name as well? How ridiculous. I am not called 'dragon' now, am I?' _She told him in annoyance

His name wasn´t ´Spartan´, but it defined who he was to equal lengths. Both names were an indicator to him as a person as well as a living being. But while he had no problems with people calling him Spartan, his name was something completely different.

And he did not want this being to know it.

"My name is personal. You will call me Spartan."

'_Will I now? Is this another one of your silly 'orders'?'_

"Yes."

'_I agree to it, for now. Our bond grows stronger with every passing hour. Even now, I can feel what you feel.' _She grudgingly said.

"Can you?"

'_Even though it has only happened twice before, I can still feel your emotions when they peak. I felt your anger when you fought the shade…and the confusion when I first hatched.´_

"About that. What happened? Did you poisen me?"

'_No, foolish one. It was the forming of our bond –the unique bond between a dragon and the rider.'_

"What does that mean?"

She snorted impatiently. '_Do I look like an elf to you? I only know the things that run through my veins. I know of the ancient ways and the pact that the elves and the dragons first made when they signed the pact.'_

"How do you know? You weren't born."

'_The blood of my ancestors flows through me and it enlightens me wherever I go.'_

That was handy. But now it was his turn to ask some questions. "People keep talking about magic. But magic doesn't exist."

'_Does it not? You have seen evidence pointing at the difference.'_

"Explain."

'_I shall try. The female you encountered?'_

"Yes?"

'_She was a Shade. I do not know how they come into being, but I do know that it is through magic.'_

He didn't believe her, but neither could he think of a different explanation for the things he had seen. Talking dragons, regenerating women and horned monsters. It was all so strange.

The sun was starting to set and he wanted to rest one final night before setting out to finally meet the Varden. He hadn't seen the other dragon again, but he knew that he was going in the right direction. If the dragon hadn't returned, it would have reached its goal.

And that goal was still dead ahead.

Eventually, the two of them reached a large indent in the side of a mountain, where a few trees were growing side-by-side. The super-soldier decided that they would make for good improvised cover and directed his companion that she could take a place underneath them, if she could fit.

His dragon was amused by him continuing to grant her a night of sleep. '_What has happened to your previous impatience, little soldier?_' She asked him.

The Spartan, who did not like being called 'little soldier', did not understand her problem. "You need to sleep, don't you?" He asked her. He had only been granting _her_ wishes.

'_Of course I must sleep and eat and drink, but I am a dragon! None stand above me and I require sleep only after a few days if intense hunting.'_

She grew silent and brought her head close to his, looking at him with her big, yellow eyes. '_But I appreciate the gesture. Will you not tell me your name? I despise the title 'Spartan'.'_

"Then come up with one yourself," He replied and moved underneath the trees. He had found their improvised cover just in time, as dark clouds were already starting to form in the sky. The occasional droplet of water splashed on the ground and he briefly wondered whether Aeraleth could withstand a heavy rainfall.

He looked at the dragon, who elegantly stepped under the cover of the high-growing trees.

'_Do not worry, little soldier. I can stand the elements better than you.'_

He raised an eyebrow at that comment, but otherwise refrained from answering. His dragon's arrogance was probably a racial thing and she was too useful to alienate by insulting. He knew that he was completely incapable of conversing with people about anything else than military tactics and plans and he would most likely insult the reptile if he ever were to have a meaningless talk with her.

He did not want that.

She slowly raised her left wing, careful as to not destroy their cover, before staring at him with her intelligent eyes. '_Will you join me for tonight?'_

He realized that she was exposing her flank to him so that he could rest against her. She was large enough to serve as support for a sleeping person, that much was true.

But he was not about to cuddle with the dragon.

He shook his head and sat down against the stone wall a few meters to her side, rejecting her offer.

Aeraleth kept her position for a short while before she retracted her wing and turned her head away, choosing to sleep without him near her. Her choice of asking him near her was…strange. Why would she want to hold him close? She did not know him and she did not even understand him. Why would she care?

He closed his eyes and focused on calming his breath, which he always had to do before falling asleep. After everything that had been going on, he still felt the after-effects of the adrenaline-fueled chase with the shade.

His dragon seemed to know more about this world than he did…which made zero sense, as she had just been born. Perhaps her statement was true and she really did understand things through ancient blood. Seeing as she was a telepathic rapidly-growing smoke-exhaling black reptile, worse things could happen.

Magic was still fake though. That didn't exist. It wasn't possible.

He exhaled softly and gradually, he drifted away in a light sleep.

The night had different plans for the Spartan, though. As his mind slipped into the dark bowels of an altered consciousness, images flooded his brain and memories rose up.

_He was standing on a small, black rock, in the middle of a very thick fog. The voluminous layer of mist was pure white and he couldn't see more than a few feet in front of him, which was worrying. How was he supposed to find out if anything was hunting him? He couldn't defend himself if he didn't see what was coming, right?_

…_why would anything be hunting him? He was alone. All alone. With nothing to worry about. And why would he even worry? He had completed his objective. All was well._

_And then the fog in front of him changed from a thick, white colour to a deep maroon one. The Spartan heard something liquid sliding over the floor with a subtle, wet noise and he instinctively reached for his assault rifle to counter the threat-_

_-only to find to his dismay that he did not possess such a weapon. He was completely unarmed –and even his MJOLNIR was gone. What could have happened to him that his armour and weapons had disappeared?_

_A stab of worry ran through him and his legs moved on their own, carrying him backwards without his consent._

_He willed his legs to move otherwise, but they didn't. They simply did not obey him and moved on their own, taking him backwards to avoid some distinct danger that he knew was lurking in the now red fog._

_Slowly, the white ground in front of him turned a dark shade of red that was frighteningly familiar to him. Large, red pools of liquid formed on the floor and soon, the blood-red stuff was flowing towards him._

_The Spartan attempted to back away even more, but his legs seemed to choose that specific moment to pin him down. He couldn't move a single inch._

_Pinned to the ground and rendered helpless, he watched as the blood streamed over his feet. A cold pit formed in his stomach and he gave a particularly forceful with his left leg, trying to tear it out of the sticky fluids that were engulfing him._

_For some reason, he hated the red liquid. He despised it. He did not want ti to touch him, but still it poured all over his feet and he could not defend himself against it._

_He had never felt so hopeless or underpowered. It was as if the stuff was violating him; ignoring his most basic needs and forcing him to give himself over. He couldn't get away, he couldn't-_

_The world around him shifted and changed; the blood that was steaming over his feet turned black and then disappeared and the dark fog turned into black smoke. _

_He looked around, searching for the origin of the sudden changes._

'_Rest calm, my young rider.'_ _A feminine voice spoke and suddenly, the world fell apart. It was as if a great wind raged through his surroundings, sweeping away everything that was strange and alien to him. He lowered his head and stared at his feet…his blood-soaked, wet feet 'All will be well.'_

'_All will be well.'_

Gasping for air, he shot upright, immediately rousing himself from his sleep. The world exploded into view and he quickly took in what he was seeing, his black knife resting in his right hand and a pistol in his left one.

A dozen meters to the front, a rock wall. To his right, a long path that was devoid of movement. To his left, the black form of Aeraleth who was staring intently at him.

His heart was pounding in his heart and he was vaguely aware of a nauseating sensation in his stomach. Cold sweat stood at his forehead and he felt like he was out of breath.

'_Are you alright, little soldier?' _His companion asked him with a voice that was laced with worry and kindness.

He scowled and placed his weapons away without replying. He couldn't believe that he had just been through yet _another_ dream, as he had been having a dry period of at least thirty days without dreams. Was this world already getting to him? Or was it the strange and intimate link he shared with Aeraleth?

'_You were having a nightmare,'_ Aeraleth insisted. '_Are you certain you are well?'_

"I'm fine," He snapped at the girl. Dragon .Thing.

He had no desire to continue discussing that topic with her. His dreams meant nothing –nothing- to him. And neither did they mean anything to her. "Mind your own business."

He half expected her to lash out verbally at him, but she did not. Instead, her voice adopted a melancholic tone. '_This…dreaming…has occurred before…yes?'_

The Spartan tried to swallow, but found that his throat was too dry to do so. For the very first time in Alagaesia, he felt tired. He didn't want to keep arguing with the dragon…he didn't dislike her caring persona. But neither did he like it. It…confused him. He didn't know if he really cared for the dragon or not.

He slowly lay back again, closing his eyes and letting his breath out softly. "Yes."

'_What is it that plagues you?'_

He tried to smile in a bitter way, failed to remember how to do so and then decided to go for a verbal reply. She couldn't see him anyway. "That's classified on a need-to-know basis."

'_Meaning?'_

"That I can't tell you. You are not allowed to know…and neither is it safe to know."

She growled softly. '_Not allowed to know? Who is it that believes they hold such control over you and me?'_

"My superiors," He replied.

'_Your superiors? Do you mean your elders?'_

"In a way. I am a soldier; I follow orders from the people who give them."

'_And they forbid you from sharing information with others?'_

"Yes."

The dragon was not amused. ´_Don't be ridiculous! Nobody is your master except yourself. If you wish to do something, you should not wait for orders from above like a dog waiting for a bone! You are a rider now, show some-´_

The Spartan did not allow Aeraleth to finish. "I am not a rider, I am a Spartan. I follow orders and complete missions, nothing more." He snapped at her and.

She fell silent, during which he lowered himself against the stone wall again.

'_If we cannot trust each other with our problems…our feelings…what is the point of us?'_

"There is no point. I will leave this world as soon as I can. I have better things to do." Then he turned his shoulder to the dragon and closed his eyes again, leaving the dumbfounded dragon alone with her thoughts.

She had one last comment though: '_Remember your age, little soldier. You were eligible for my choice because you are not yet an adult…and there is a reason for you being here. We both have a reason.'_

The Spartan did not really understand what Aeraleth meant. He was nineteen; he had been a Spartan for a very long time. Ever since he had been augmented, really. Age was…nothing more than a container for experience. The bonding that the dragon was talking about was a troublesome thing really, as he felt every emotion that he caused. Even though those emotions should not mean anything to him, they still left a small impact on him.

He hated his situation.

Luckily, the rest of the night passed without any weird dreams for the Spartan. He woke some time before the sun raised again, for the tenth time since they had arrived at this world.

Aeraleth was quiet when they woke, choosing to only tell him that she was going off hunting before leaving him. But he didn't mind that; he welcomed the isolation.

He couldn't believe that he had been stuck on some backwater planet for ten days at an end. His desire to reach the UNSC was slowly starting to grow overshadowed by the realization that he had been seeing things that were simply impossible. He knew that things could be important for mankind, but they could also be dangerous. He was lucky that the war had been put on a hold and he truly did not want it to continue. But this land had a completely new war already laid out for him and the actions of the ruling empire had forced his hand. But he had to be realistic; Wren was dead. His crew was dead and he had no way to contact the _When Duty Ends _on his own. If they were lucky, a battlegroup would be dispatched to recover him too. He wasn't the only one who had been lost; the entire Lima Battlegroup had been sent away from Math-011.

So basically, he was stuck. Very stuck. It would be weeks before the UNSC could potentially find him, if not months.

He did not feel very fond of the prospect of waiting for months at and end, especially not when there wasn't anything he could do about it. However…if he were to spend his time stuck in this world…he might as well do some cleaning.

He had an empire to tear down. And his dragon could assist him in doing so.

After an hour of three of nonstop marching, the dragon swooped down from above.

"Done?" He asked her.

She did not answer.

That meant she was either shocked by something, or still mad at him. And given her complete lack of injuries or natural predators, it had to be the second one.

He liked silence in its natural form alright, but he did not want Aeraleth to remain silent for a prolonged period. He was going to work together with her for what was probably a very long while, she he might as well make something good out of it.

She touched down on the ground and folded her giant wins.

"Aeraleth?" He asked her, trying to get her attention.

Silence in his head.

"Are you suited for diplomatic negotiations? "

A tang of surprise ran through their mental bond and she indulged herself in answering him, albeit in a snarky and angry fashion. '_I am a dragon; diplomacy is something I am ill-suited for.'_

"Then we may have a problem."

'_How so?'_

"I'm not suited either."

Aeraleth couldn't keep herself under control and a deep reverberating growl escaped her throat. He felt that she was amused and quickly realized that she was actually laughing. That was good; it meant that her emotional status was improving.

'_You, not suited for building relationships with people? How surprising!'_

What? She didn't know that already? "No, really. Talking generally doesn't work for me."

The dragon's laughing grew louder and he could actually see her flanks rising and falling rapidly with each deep breath she took in her laughing fit. '_I would have never figured that out on my own.'_

She couldn´t be really smart then, if she hadn't realized that by now. "Pay closer attention then."

The dragon turned around and confronted him again with her face. She was now officially larger than he was, standing a full head higher than him. Her body had to be longer than eight meters right now; her talons were almost as large as his combat knife and some of her teeth were already of that size.

'_I was being sarcastic,'_ She told him with a hint of amusement.

Ah. That explained it. It was a problem that had a tendency to reoccur quite a few times; he was unable to properly understand sarcasm and neither could he convey it himself. Lucky for him, sarcasm wasn't used that frequently in his life. But still, it was another obstacle that stood in his way when it came to diplomatic relationships. As soon as he met the leader of the Varden, the only thing he could possibly do was killing him, choosing not to kill him or threatening to kill him.

"I didn't realize that," The Spartan said. He found it rather hard to formulate his thoughts and sentences in a way that did not insult the dragoness. He had decided that he wanted to make the best out of whatever time they had, but that did not mean he could overcome the communications-blockade just like that. So if he had to talk in a way that did not directly relate to issuing or executing orders, he really had to struggle to find the proper words.

He didn't generally talk very much.

They continued to Beors, both Spartan and dragon trying to overcome their communication problems.

'_How come someone like you found himself here?'_

"I was on a mission that went wrong. Our ship ended up here, damaged beyond normal repairs. We set out to investigate the surface…but we encountered enemy activity."

'_I felt as much when you gathered my egg from the King's clutches. I felt your many troubles throughout the journey, including your most impressive feat.'_

"Feat?"

'_You killed more than a hundred humans during one battle without getting hurt. I didn't think humans could be so savage. How did you become a warrior like that?'_

"Training," He replied, remembering the many painful sessions that he and his fellow Spartans had been forced to undergo. The excruciating physical training…followed by the augmentation procedure. He had been among one of the younger Spartans to undergo the project. "Lots of it."

'_What made you so different from other humans?'_

"Long story."

'_We have much time on our hands and I would rather not spend it fighting each other.´_

The Spartan heisted; he didn't know just how much he could tell Aeraleth, as she wasn't cleared to know and could present a security risk. However, she was closely linked to his mind and sooner or later, she might start to find certain things out.

In the end he opted for telling her a partial truth. "Thirty years ago, mankind encountered a collective of species called the Covenant. They were hostile and initiated hostilities. To combat them, our military leaders – called the United Nations Space Command- employed Spartans."

'_But you weren't even alive at that start, yes?'_

"Yes. But the SPARTAN-project was larger than my group. The initial group was a failure, the second group was not. Some time ago, my group got created. We were trained and given armour to fight the Covenant."

'_How did this war end?'_

"Mankind survived. The Covenant collapsed due to a civil war."

'_Then why are you here, if there is no reason to fight any longer?'_

"There is always a reason to fight."

'_You still did not answer my question,'_ Aeraleth impatiently replied.

"Aeraleth…my past is bloody and classified-"

'_Are you going to withhold your own life from me?'_

"-no. But I don't want to talk about it. It's irrelevant to our current mission."

'_I shall judge that.'_

He sighed, understanding that Aeraleth was truly unlike anyone he had met before. He could simply not interact with her without either insulting or disturbing her. Talking to people was usually quite similar to walking in a minefield to him, but this was a special case.

Instead of blowing up, he could harm the only creature that he had even remotely cared about since a long time. He did not want to harm Aeraleth. And he was not sure why that was, apart from the obvious use she had to him.

Perhaps this forced bond ran even deeper than he had initially thought? "If you're patient, I can think of things that aren't classified."

'_Patience is not my strongest side.'_

"I need you to be diplomatic first."

The dragon was about to return a witty remark when the Spartan suddenly stopped and held his hand in the air, with its back aimed at the dragoness and its fingers tucked in. '_Stop!´_He told her telepathically.

She sniffed the air and lowered her head. '_What is it little soldier? I do not smell anything.'_

"Look," He told her and kneeled down next to a sandy patch, where a footstep was clearly visible. He had been so busy keeping an eye on his surroundings that he had forgotten to look at the ground.

'_Ah,'_ the dragon replied, '_That is the footstep of an Urgal.'_

"And there are more of them."

The area was completely littered with the strange footprints of the so-called 'Urgals'. If he were to estimate their numbers, he would come at a number somewhere between fifty and hundred.

'_Do you know what this means?' _Aeraleth then asked him and gave the Spartan an intense look.

"We're going the right way," The soldier replied and reached for his rifle.

'_Amongst others. It signifies that there is a mass of them heading out for the Varden. Remember those you saw in another valley? They too must be aiming at going there.'_

The Spartan understood that crystal clear. "Move out ASAP."

He felt his partner's confusion at his statement and awaited her comment.

'_I do not understand the latter.'_

She didn't understand military abbreviations, he should have understood that. She was a savage, if intellectual, animal…but also a noncombatant. "It means as soon as possible. Remember it."

'_Alright?'_

He gave another look at the footprint. It had seven toes and it was larger than a human's. Whatever had made that impression on the ground had to have weighed as much as an Elite…and judging by the width, it was even larger than that.

Did it belong to the hostiles he had eliminated? Possibly; they had been the only ones large enough to have left such a footprint. But where were they now? He had been moving too fast for the large collective force he had seen to have caught up to him…and neither had he left anything else on his six.

The explanation to his problem: the force that had been stalking the other dragon. He had seen a small group of warriors entering the same valley a day ago and it had to have been that specific force that had left all these footprints.

So somewhere at the end of this mountain-pass was an army waiting for them. The Varden was in deep trouble; wave after wave of hostile soldiers were heading out to find them and if he was correct, the Varden would not withstand those numbers.

Unless these Urgals were reinforcement for the rebels…that would mean that he had killed about fifty abled warriors that could have otherwise engaged the empire he was opposing. But they had failed to identify themselves and they had showed aggression towards Aeraleth. That was unacceptable.

But if the Varden knew of those creatures as their allies, he couldn't show up at their borders drenched in their blood.

He needed to take a bath to wash off the caked-up blood that clung to his armour. Even though the colour of his MJOLNIR was already very dark, it was still obvious that he had been involved in a bloodbath.

They spent another two hours marching through the mountains, making their way around a particularly large peak. Eventually, the Spartan slid down a slope into a new valley and Aeraleth flew overhead, casting a large shadow over him.

The Spartan took the new environment in and processed the tactical repercussions of entering it. They had entered a valley that was enclosed by sheer cliffs on all sides, with a large lake that went all the way from the southern-most area to the northern-most area, where a large waterfall poured down from above.

'_Aeraleth, land, now! ´_ He ordered the dragon, which quickly acknowledged his command and touched down roughly a dozen meters in front of the lake.

_´What is it little soldier?'_ She asked, her voice thick with worry.

The Spartan jumped the last few meters and landed in front of the sloped wall, making his way to the landed dragon while keeping a close eye on his surroundings.

There were dozens of weapons and arrows littering the shores next to the lake, with large patches of black blood pooling in small ditches in the ground. But that was nothing compared to the many bodies that were scattered all over the area; at least fifty grey bodies lay sprawled across the dirt, floating in the water or slumped against the rocks. The lake had grown dark with the amount of blood that had been spilled and the way those Urgals –for these had to be Urgals- had died made the entire area reek of a kill-zone. Most corpses had arrows sticking out, meaning that they had been murdered from a distance.

And what better distance to have than from on top of a wall? Or better yet, open areas behind walls?

'_See that waterfall?' _He asked Aeraleth, focusing on communicating only. He couldn't keep a long conversation going without opening his mind to her further and that would risk memories and thoughts seeping through.

'_I do. This place reeks of death and destruction…not in the same way you do, but in a different way.'_

He smelled of death and destruction to her? That was to be expected. '_There are cracks.'_

A knot formed in his stomach as he tried to squeeze more words through. They were about to be ambushed and he couldn't speak aloud, because there were probably people watching them as they communicated. As soon as they heard that they were compromised, those people would open fire.

'_In the walls.'_

He wasn't fast enough. '_Screw it_,' he thought to himself and decided to risk it.

Then he opened the tiny hole in his mental defense up and allowed Aeraleth to settle her own consciousness there. He instantly suppressed his thoughts even more and focused on what needed to be done.

'_There are cracks in those walls, a hundred meters to the north. There are people hiding behind there and they will attack us if we close in.'_

'_How do you know this?'_ Aeraleth asked, '_Can you feel their minds?'_

He could feel minds of other creatures than his dragon? That required some more thought. But for now he had more important things to do.

'_Jump in the lake, now!'_

Aeraleth did not question him further and instead followed his order without problems; diving headfirst into the lake.

Once her large body had been completely submerged, he followed her into the deep lake. Due to his airtight suit, he didn't worry about losing air or anything like that. His MJOLNIR was rated for atmosphere and vacuum alike.

He did not know whether that went for Aeraleth as well, but she knew her boundaries better than he did.

'_Hold onto me,'_ she told him and he grabbed her tail when it flashed past him.

Aeraleth then dragged him through the water, taking him with her to the northern section where the waterfall was clattering into the lake with the pounding of a thousand hammers.

'_How much do you weigh?' _She asked him, strain evident in her mental voice.

'_Can you get us to the waterfall?'_ He asked her.

'_I must.'_

If there were archers or worse, gunmen, waiting for behind the wall he would force them to lean out of their holes by making his way to the waterfall. That way, he could cover Aeraleth while she snapped up and murdered them. But he heard no rifle-shots and neither did he hear arrows sifting through the water. They weren't being attacked so far.

He waited for a minute or two before deciding that he was close enough and then let go of her tail, using powerful strides of his limbs to get through the remaining amount of water.

Due to the heavy nature of his MJOLNIR, he was forced to use all his strength to even stay adrift. If he remained still, he would sink like a brick. But a swimming Spartan was still faster than any swimming human and soon, the roaring of the waterfall reached its peak.

He realized that the waterfall did in fact not signify the end of the valley; there was a large, cavernous room behind the mass of water that led into a tunnel.

'_This has to be the Varden's hideout,'_ He realized.

Then he directed his thoughts to Aeraleth and told her that there was a room behind the waterfall.

'_Is this where our new allies are resting?'_ She asked him while her black head reared above the surface of the now-underground lake, dripping water as she continued to rise.

Her black scales were as reflective as the water was and even though the cave was only lit by a few scattered torches –indicating that it was recently used- she still sparkled like a gemstone.

He would have to do something about that soon.

Two circles on his motion tracker appeared and this, he could see that they were human-sized. A battle had taken place very recently and it could be that the Urgals had already infiltrated the cave-system.

He heard footsteps echoing in the distance even as Aeraleth exited the lake and he drew his rifle again. The thing couldn't get jammed by mud or sand, so he did not doubt its effectiveness after having subjected to water.

'_We got hostiles,´_ He replied. Either the Varden had won the battle and were coming to apprehend him, or the Urgals had won the battle and THEY were coming to apprehend him. Either way, the people that were coming his way were hostile.

But to avoid alienating possible allies, he would avoid killing them.

´_They would not dare harm you if I am with you!´_ Aeraleth told him and snapped her powerful jaws, producing a loud, violent sound.

´_Keep low,´_ He told the reptile and crept closer to the darkest section of the wall, where he would be the hardest to spot.

Whatever would come for him, he would be prepared to deal with it.

The footsteps grew gradually closer and closer, until he made visual contact.

Two tall, bald men with strange robes slowly walked toward him. They looked identical to each other, so he guessed that they were twins.

"Come out!" One of them spoke with a voice that oozed ego and arrogance. "We know that you are here!"

'_They must be working with the Varden,'_ Aeraleth told him, '_Don't kill them!'_

'_Copy,'_ He replied.

One of the twins made a gesture with his hand and shouted "Garjzla!"

A red light suddenly appeared in-between the twins and the Spartan, hovering in the air without any visible way to hold it up. The Spartan raised his eyebrows when he saw that, linking the phenomenon with the word 'magic'.

"Heavens, it's a dragon!" One of them shouted when they saw Aeraleth's bulk reflecting their summoned light with her black scales.

Thinking that the two were going to attack his companion, the Spartan stepped out from the shadows and aimed his rifle at them. "Get back!" He barked at them and clicked the safety off.

The two bald men appeared completely flabbergasted for a few seconds, before they seemed to collect themselves. One of them stepped forward and raised both of his arms.

"It appears that one of the king's eggs has hatched. Tell me rider, what are you doing here?"

The voice sounded forced, as if the apparent magician had to actually work at sounding nice.

"You infiltrated the entrance to Farthen Dûr. You do realize that this is a crime that must be punished?" The other spoke, already sounding less pleasant than his brother.

He ignored the obvious threat and tried to think of a way to resolve the conflict without bloodshed.

He found none as of yet. "Where is your leader?"

Both men raised their eyebrows at the same time, which annoyed the Spartan greatly. Then they stepped closer to each other and said in union: "Nobody may enter without having their mind searched."

The left one turned to the right one. "This one cannot be Kull, for he is near a dragon. However, his armour is unlike any I have seen before. He must be working for the king."

'_That is nonsense!'_ Aeraleth angrily told him, '_If you were working for that oath-breaker, you would already be strangling them with their own intestines. They are seeking a reason to attack you.'_

"Relax," He told the two sneering bastards, "I'm not here to fight you. Take me to your leader."

"Oh, that is too bad," The right one replied and smiled cruelly. "Nobody may enter before having their thoughts scanned for evidence of treachery. As you might know, the only free rider is currently with us."

"Yes, for all we know you might have sworn oaths to the king. I can not imagine where you got that dragon's egg otherwise," The other one replied, leading Aeraleth to growl violently. The cave shook for a moment and several rocks broke off of the ceiling and fell to the ground.

The two bald men instantly jumped back and pulled their sleeves back, while Aeraleth contacted the Spartan again.

'_They would not believe you otherwise, little Spartan. Can you show them your memories of finding my egg?'_

'_Will they stop there?'_

'_I am not sure. While I do not understand your desire to keep your mind such a secret from me, I can respect it if you wish to do the same with these humans. They do seem very ready to do violence.'_

It was decided then. He was not about to have his mind read by some arrogant asses, even if they could conjure light out of thin air.

"That's not going to happen," He told the two and returned his Assault rifle to his back, so that he might be able to fight with both hands without risking the precious rifle.

"So be it!" One of the bald men spoke and closed his eyes. A second later, the Spartan felt something akin to a barbed knife plunging itself deep into the walls around his mind. The experience was very unpleasant and he understood immediately that he was under a mental attack.

'_Spartan!'_ Aeraleth shouted in his head, '_We must not kill these two, but neither should you give up your secrets to them.'_

He got that much. He had no clue how to defend himself against something that was not physical, but he understood that he could banish the probing tendrils of another man's thoughts out by simply willing it. His discipline was at a high peak, even though he had allowed himself to fall in a fit of black rage at one time during his stay in Alagaesia.

Nevertheless, when the attack on his mind was joined by the other balding men, he understood that his inexperience in mental warfare might be problematic. However, he found himself perfectly capable of blocking these men's attempts to break his mind.

Then the combined attack managed to cause a temporary slip in his concentration when they performed a rather painful maneuver. It caused a memory to pass through between them and the twins greedily grasped at it, wrapping it in their own telepathic signals and revealing its contents to themselves.

It was a very brief and simple memory, of him killing four grunts in quick succession using duel-wielded blades.

_Blue, phosphorus blood dripped in the ground as he pulled his knife out of the alien's skull, letting the body slip out of his grasp. The three remaining grunts squealed loudly, but he moved faster than they could even jump up and before they knew it, he had murdered two of them with quick stabs at their skulls. Then he ripped the gas-mask off of the face of the third, before cracking its skull with a flashing kick._

_The bodies tumbled to the ground, bleeding, and he sprinted off to catch the next target._

The Spartan realized that the twins were too caught up in the memory to notice that he had long since let go of it. No, it was more than that. They were shocked by the images; he could feel their collective emotions slipping over to his side. They were scared of the strange creatures, disgusted by their blood and horrified by the way he had killed the grunts.

He took their moment of weakness and counterattacked, allowing the link between his mind and theirs to expand until he had a good grip on the mind of one of them. Their minds were strangely entwined, as if they were lending each other strength.

'_Aeraleth, can you join your mind with me?'_ He asked his dragon.

'_Yes my rider. Do you need assistance?'_

'_I need to know. How do I fight with my mind?'_

Then, his companion told him about breaking the walls around the minds of his foes and overpowering their bodies with his will.

The entire procedure was too complicated, so the Spartan decided on a different method instead. He quickly found that he was capable of both defending his mind against the painful attempts at invasion as moving his limbs, so he used that to his advantage.

He took two big steps forwards and swept the legs from the closest hostile away from underneath his legs, sending his body tumbling to the ground while turning horizontal, as his support suddenly fell away.

Then the Spartan reached out and grabbed the man's face, bringing his head down with moderate strength to the dirt floor. It wasn't hard enough to kill him, but it was hard enough to knock him out cold for a while.

The second man screamed in surprise and pain and staggered backwards, but the Spartan was way faster. He grabbed the man's shoulder with his left hand, jumped over him and then positioned himself with his stomach against the guy's back. Then he snaked his right arm around the bald man's throat and choked him into unconsciousness.

His mind was in constant connection with the twins and he had felt their arrogance and confidence turning around completely, changing into open fear and terror as he overpowered them with ease.

He was confused by their fear and downfall. They had been so smug…and they had fallen so easily. And what was so wrong about his memories of fighting grunts, of all things? It was obvious that this world possessed more than it seemed…but could these two have really used magic? Could magic really exist?

'_Well done young soldier,´_ Aeraleth said with a hint of amusement, ´_you just defended yourself against two mindbreakers.'_

'_Two what?'_ He replied. He didn't really know the term mindbreaker, but he could imagine what it meant. He was a Spartan, so banishing out pain and discomfort had been easy for him. The pain and damage inflected when the two bald men had started intruding his mind had been manageable, but a normal person would have been incapacitated.

'_A Mindbreaker is a person who normally possesses no magical skills, but excels at breaking into the mind of his foes. These two however, seemed to knowmagic.'_

'_What was that word he yelled? Some code-word?'_

'_No. It was a remnant to a forgotten past. Someone more eligible than me can tell you.´_

Aeraleth wasn't thinking clearly; if someone with more knowledge than her existed, that person would be a threat to the both of them. Also, the only person he was willing to listen to was Aeraleth herself. He couldn't –wouldn't- trust anyone else. _´Someone more eligible than you does not exist.´_

'_You flatter me,'_ The dragon replied softly. '_But now is not the time for compliments, we must-'_

'_-it wasn't compliment.'_

She fell silent for a second or three, before slowly replying again. '_What else was it?'_

'_A statement.´_

_´I do not know whether to be happy or worried about that.´_

_´Neither. Move out.´_

The dragon snapped her jaws together and he felt her amusement seeping through their link. He looked at the bodies of the twins one more time before deciding that they were secured there; they wouldn't wake up anytime soon and neither would anyone find them.

'_You did not kill them.'_ Aeraleth told him. After they had been walking through the lit tunnel for at least half an hour. The shaft kept moving upwards, downwards and then sideways, which made it hard for the dragon to fly through it, even though it was large enough to hold her that way.

'_You told me not to.´_

_´But you actually listened. That is good.´_

_´Make no mistake,´ _He replied, '_I let them live because of the Varden. If I hadn't wanted to ask for their help, I would have killed them.'_

'_Had you not desired to seek the Varden, I would have killed them myself.'_

'_Yes?'_ He replied. Sometimes he forgot that Aeraleth was a dragon; a savage, fierce hunter.

'_Yes. You were more than capable of defending yourself against their tricks, but they did attack you. A crime only repaid by me eating the offender.´_

_´Next time you will get a meal.´_

_´That implies you intent to get in more trouble.´_

He ignored that remark and continued down the tunnel, increasing his speed. The dragon was larger than he was so her steps were bigger too. Add to that that she was a quadruped animal and one had the formula for a very fast reptile. While he had been forced to withhold his tempo for her sake, he could now walk at his own normal speed without fear of her falling behind too much.

He had to admit, the tunnel was made with craftsmanship. The angles at the corners were perfectly square and the walls were flawless, so the people here had to have at least the most basic skill at mining. How long had they been down there?

Eventually, the Spartan saw more light at the end of the tunnel than he had been seeing the past thirty minutes. He zoomed in on the probable exit and saw two large black doors, decorated with lights and gems at two pillars standing next to it. It all looked unnecessarily fancy and he did not feel for it.

Once they had reached the double set of doors, large enough for Aeraleth to pass through unhindered, the Spartan took his position at one door and attempted to force it open.

But then he heard a faint screeching and he quickly stepped back with his rifle aimed squarely at the doors. They were swinging open, outwards on hidden joints.

'_That was unexpected,'_ His dragon pointed out.

As the doors opened, rays of sunlight streamed inside and his visor polarized to prevent him from being blinded. He didn't know if Aeraleth had a method to prevent herself from being blinded, as she gave no indication of discomfort.

When he saw what was inside of the tunnel, he frowned. They were inside of a massive volcanic crater; its walls narrowed to a small opening at the top, at least twenty kilometers high. The sunlight was coming from there, illuminating the rest of the crater.

There was a cobblestone path extending from the doors, running straight to the center of the room where another ridiculously oversized structure; it was a mountain, roughly two kilometers high, that had a rough cone-like appearance.

What annoyed him more than the vast scale of the mountain however, was the crowd of people gathered around the cobblestone path. In the same second it had taken him to take in the size of the hollow mountain, at least dozens of people had turned to stare at them. There were at least a hundred of them, scattered around the entrance of the cave.

But what surprised the Spartan the most, was the presence of humans that could only be defined as ´dwarves´. Roughly sixty percent of the humans that had gathered to look at them were pint-sized hairy people that didn't even reach to his waist. Most of them had long beards and moustaches, but the females were not hairy.

Their proportions didn't identify them as people with a growing disorder and there were too many of them for it to be a disease.

'_Dwarves?' _He asked Aeraleth.

'_Yes. They live in the Beor Mountains.'_

'_They are not humans?'_

'_Do not be silly. Of course dwarves are not humans! Dwarves are dwarves, just like dragons are dragons and elves are elves.'_

Her reply only puzzled him. Up to that point, he had believed this world to be a simple rebel outpost or a forgotten UNSC colony. But he had seen dragons, magic and 'shades'. And now he had even seen mindreading people and dwarves.

To him, this resembled some fantasy world. But these things were real. Solid. Facts.

The Spartan realized that he was stuck in something that was bigger than what he knew; there were things that he could not explain and this entire world fell outside of the UNSC. But he had interfered…declared war on the empire and stole their dragon-egg.

He was too involved to try and walk away from it all.

'_What do I do?' _He asked Aeraleth. He truly had no idea what he could do to fix the mess that it all had become. It was as if a solid floor underneath his feet had fallen away, dropping him in a deep and dark lake.

He was lost.

'_What do you want to do? Do you wish to join the Varden and take the fight to the empire, or do you wish to flee this land and live your life somewhere else?'_

No fleeing. No surrendering. He was good for one thing and that was winning. '_I wanted to find the Varden for information on how to get out of this world. But now…I don't think it will be that simple.'_

The rules had changed. He could either stand still and be swept away in the tide, or he could move along. Change and adapt like he had done so many times.

'_I for one will not accept it if you wish to join the empire and fight for Galbatorix. That egg-breaker has murdered all but one of my kin.'_

'_You want revenge?'_

'_I want to tear the empire apart and free the remaining two eggs.'_

So there were still two eggs in the king's clutches? If those hatched…and produced riders who could wield magic…they could hunt down the Pelican dropship and find important hardware. They could destroy the Varden and everyone who opposed the empire. That was unacceptable.

And…Aeraleth had stated her wish. She wanted to free the eggs. Now he had a goal –a mission to undertake. It gave him purpose.

'_Then we will do that.'_

Aeraleth was very pleased, but the dwarves that were looking at them had finally realized just what had entered their cave. Their facial expression changed from frowning to shock to panic.

The crowd finally realized that they were being visited and they descended into total chaos and panic. They started to scream and shout and run, all the while spouting nonsense over Galbatorix and the end.

He got that the blue dragon and its rider had probably entered here first, as the empire was actively hunting a rider. And he had seen said rider flying to the valley. The Urgals at the gate had been killed, so the only logical conclusion was that the Varden already possessed their rider.

And seeing how nobody seemed to know of him and Aeraleth, he could safely conclude that they had not expected him.

Together with Aeraleth and ignoring the civilians, the Spartan marched over to the entrance to the large, white mountain. The closer he got to the thing the more he realized that it had been decorated with white marble, statues and all kinds of groves. At the very front of the mountain, two large statues of mythical birds were standing –both of them in solid gold.

What a waste of resources.

There was a rather heavy gate in front of them, but luckily it wasn't yet closed.

'_Move it!´_ He snapped at Aeraleth and dashed underneath the iron gate before it could close before them.

They were standing in a very large room, easily four stories high. The walls were littered with archways and he spotted at least two dozen doors stretched out across the room. It seemed that the screams and chaos of outside the mountain had reached all the way to the inside, as dozens of dwarves and humans, all armed, streamed out of the doors.

'_We're surrounded,'_ He noted and calmly kept on walking, ignoring the nervous stares that the guards flung at them. Dwarves fiddled with their axes, humans nervously stroked their swords and examples of both species strung their bows.

Nobody fired.

He did not have enough ammo to kill all of these people and when it came to a fight, Aeraleth would get severely injured. He didn't know which ones were capable of magic and neither did he know where the other dragon was. To initiate hostilities now would be to initiate a bloodbath…and one nervous release of a bow or one displaced weapon and both parties would tear the other apart.

This was _exactly_ why he did no negotiate. Wren was the diplomatic one, he was not. He was necessary when the diplomatic negotiations failed.

'_What do we do now?'_ Aeraleth asked him.

'_Keep walking.'_

The large room ended in a black arch that was surrounded by black and gold pillars, which they reached without being opposed.

It was curious. They were completely unopposed, yet there were at least two-hundred warriors visible. Why weren't they attacked?

Aeraleth stepped through the large arch and then hummed deep in her throat. He understood that she was impressed and he also understood why.

They were in a circular room, roughly one-third of a kilometer across, that reached all the way to the top of the mountain. The walls –narrowing as they rose- were lined with arches, each for each level of the city-mountain. The room seemed to be a nexus for four hallways –including the one they had just exited- that probably divided the mountain in four quarters.

The roof was capped by a giant jewel, which was crafted to resemble a rose. It was an enormous waste of resources and could be far better spent by disassembling and distributing it for money or other resources.

For a dug-in rebellion that lacked the proper resources, they sure were rich. Their commander had to be a very thick one to waste such resources to decorations.

But they weren't alone in the large room. A large, broad man with a beard and official-looking armour, a dwarf with a helmet and a young-looking boy, with strange clothes and a sword-sheath at his hips.

Those ones were of no consequence to him. What caught his attention however, was the presence of a rather pretty woman and a large, Sapphire-coloured dragon easily towering above Aeraleth. It was the same dragon he had seen back in the Beor Mountains, following their trail.

The dragon had her teeth bared in a snarl and the boy had placed his hand on his sheath, ready to pull out a sword. The dwarf looked too shocked to do anything and the broadly-shouldered man reached for a battle-axe. All of them could be killed by a quick burst of fire from his rifle, but he stayed his hand. These had to be the people he was looking for…and there was something off about the woman.

She looked like she was in her early twenties, but she looked rather strange. Her facial features ware sharp and angled and she had strange eyes. However, her ears truly made her different than the rest of the humans.

They were pointed, reaching almost twice the length of a normal human ear. They weren't very subtle…and they indicated that she was an elf.

'_A dragon!'_ Aeraleth spoke in his mind, sounding awed. '_She is a dragon! Like me!'_

'_Keep calm,'_ He told her as he lowered his rifle and stepped closer to the people, placing them at a dozen meters difference. '_They think we're hostiles.'_

'_How so?'_

"You!" The man yelled and stepped forwards, looking directly at him. "What in the blazes are you how did you get in here?"

"It's a dragon!" The dwarf muttered and pulled out his own axe, "Another dragon! Galbatorix did it…he has found another rider!"

The Spartan carefully analyzed the situation, came up with several tactics to employ and then decided on the most efficient way to kill the dragon should the need arise.

'_Aeraleth,´_ He slowly asked his partner, ´_You never confirmed you being capable of diplomacy.´_

_´That,´_ The dragon replied, ´_Is because I am as ill-suited as you are.´_

That clarified things. It also simplified them.

His next action would probably initiate a bloodbath. That was not advantageous.

~0~

"_Durza. You will relinquish your control over these creatures to me."_

"_And why should I do that, Raia? Your presence here was…unaccounted for."_

"_She demands it. So it shall happen."_

"_Who are you after? The boy?"_

"_No. There is a second rider; he has stolen the King's most secret object…and my lady is most upset about it."_

"…_I see. How do you expect me to disobey when it is her will?"_

"_I don't."_

Conversation between shades Raia and Durza, Beor Mountains, 10 days after planet incursion.

_~0~_

_Also: who is willing to bet that 007 and Aeraleth's bond is very different to Eragon and Saphira's? _

_And who is willing to point out how? _


	6. False hopes

_Don't judge me, I am only human! I was extraordinary inspired to write this chapter. _

_**Primordial Soul: **__First off, did finals go well? _

_Second: the thing about the setting? I agree. I have also seen the familiar formula and I must admit that it wasn't exactly intentional. However, I have many things planned and this certainly won't be the same as the other story. Some might remember a few logs from BDaA concerning our lovely 007 ;) _

_Also, I have a simple formula for myself concerning my writing speed. The more stress at the campus, the harder I must work to complete that stress and thus the harder I must work at the fanfiction to compensate. It's flawed, as I leave out time for sleep, but it works for me._

_**Edboy4926: **__Oh yes, it will. I had at least 3 scenarios in my head, but I went for this one._

_**Guest (1): **__I'm afraid not. At least, not yet._

_**Jcraft596: **__Good, glad to see you liked it._

_**Kane: **__Well, you're welcome._

_I have never thought about pregnant shades, but I will most certainly delve deeper into the idea behind them, as I believe Paolini has wasted a perfectly good race._

_The 'her' is indeed the remaining shade. The other one. And yes, our Spartan has had an encounter with the Flood. He could use it as a weapon…but the knife cuts both ways._

_Spoilers._

_**Guest (2): **__I agree._

_**Water Guardian 26: **__True. But will that stay?_

_**The Lone Swordswolf: **__Thanks, I will._

_**ILikedabubbles: **__I knew that Kelly was the fastest, but Chief's exact speed was forgotten in my memory. Luckily, our Spartan managed to avoid such a fate. For now. Plenty of sprinting to go._

_**The Blue Tigrex: **__You called it, well done._

_Also, I can also understand why you would disagree with Primordial. I'll just go ahead and say that I will still work hard to make this story a legend in a different way than BDaA._

_**Tuutje07: **__While I disagree with (most if the) many, many MANY perverted innuendos that can be found in Paolini's work, I must state that I think he stated his way of mental fighting and actions quite well. However, I find that my own abstract way of viewing the mind also permits me to write mind-scenes. _

_**AK74FU2: **__thanks. I know Destiny, but only by name and heritage at Bungie. I have not yet played or seen it myself._

_~0~_

"_After years of covert information gathering, I have finally managed to reach a conclusion on the several foreign agents in the chemical cocktail added in the augmentation procedure. Just in case Parangosky or one of her pet agents finds out about this, I shall place the Intel-log in separate entries, for others to find should the need arise. I have been having increasing amounts of doubt regarding the creation of these Secret-Spartans…and the more I think about it, the more I think that all of this has been a mistake. We wanted to fight monsters and in doing so, we created demons."_

_- Mental Health Specialist Jennifer Sunfield, logbook entry 4, 24__th__ of August 2552._

_~0~_

Eragon gasped when he saw just what was standing in the hallway, accompanied by a black dragon. It was at least seven feet tall, towering above even Urgals. Its armour –or skin, he wasn't too sure- was horrifyingly grey; no natural-occurring material was so dark. It almost looked black…and under the red glow of the dwarven Star Rose, it possessed a ghastly glow.

The thing had a red gem in the place where its face was supposed to be, more than ten inches wide and four inches high. The head almost looked like a helmet to Eragon, further showing that this might be armour instead of skin.

Eragon did not want to be anywhere near it, but as soon as a Dwarf had ran up to Orik with the message that an intruder was pushing into Tronjheim, he had had no choice but to go face the intruder. He had been busy with the test of his skills, at the hands of Fredric, the twins and Arya and he hadn't felt ready to directly attack a person yet.

Fredric had tested his skills with the sword, the twins had tested him with magic and Arya…had tested his techniques with the sword.

'_What is that thing?'_ He asked Saphira, but the dragon didn't respond. She was too lost in a vortex of emotions herself and she didn't even hear him. There were too many feelings seeping through their mental link and he couldn't fathom the half of them. The things that he did understand were the obvious ones: shock at the appearance of a dragon, horror at the appearance of the black monster and an overwhelming amount of fear and distress at …something about the newcomers

The dark figure held a black device in his hands, roughly three to four feet long. It didn't possess any blades, so it couldn't be a weapon.

For that, Eragon was thankful.

He wasn't sure who was taller, this thing or Arya. The elf stood higher than most men and that was one of the things that set her apart from the rest of the Varden, but this thing was big enough to rival her –and it was bulkier than an Urgal, that was certain.

And the dragon…it was even darker than its rider was and the deep, black scales held a certain beauty. But without knowing if it was an enemy or not, he could not freely admire it. The dragon was smaller than Saphira, for that he was thankful. Saphira was two times as large as the black dragon, meaning that she would most likely win in a battle if it came to that.

Very subtly, he looked aside and watched Arya's face for a second or two. Her expression was pretty much unreadable as always, but still he managed to glean off a few details.

Arya looked very tense and her eyes were slightly narrowed. Her lips were pressed tightly against each other, making her mouth appear like a thin line.

'_Does this thing spook her?'_ He wondered.

Saphira hissed loudly and craned her long neck forwards, hate and anger radiating off of her. He instinctively felt that she was going to attack –and that was something he did not want. The dragon felt real enough, but the grey rider gave off an almost inhuman feeling. The dragon could not have chosen an Urgal as its rider, so this thing had to be an elf or a human.

Unless this wasn't the rider of course. This might be a shade, having forced the dragon to serve him. But where did the dragon even come from? Shruikan was black, but he was also as large as a mountain. There were two other eggs under Galbatorix' control, but if any of those had hatched…wouldn't the Varden have known about that?

Wouldn't Ajihad, leader of the Varden, have known of that?

'_Saphira!´ _He shouted starkly, trying to gain his partner's attention. '_Calm down! Don't attack unless we are attacked!'_

'_It smells like death and destruction!´_ Saphira yelled back with equal force, sounding like she was straining herself to merely talk to him. ´_I must destroy it!´_

"I thought the twins were supposed to be scanning everyone at the entrance!" Orik shouted. "How did these two get in here?"

'_Perhaps he killed the twins?'_ He thought, remembering how much the two bald men had hurt him at the entrance. And again, during his test just a few hours ago. They had asked him to do something that was impossible to undertake with his current magical skills; something that might had killed him, had Arya not interfered.

The test seemed so long ago…the twins had most likely returned to the entrance, but where were they now? Had their unpleasant traits been the end of them?

"Who are you?" Orik demanded and stepped forwards. The dwarf was a direct nephew to the Dwarven king Hrothgar, so this rider could not be safe if he decided to hurt the dwarf.

"I would like to know that as well! What did you do to the twins?" Fredric shouted angrily.

Then again, it should not even know that.

"I am looking for the Varden," The grey-armoured rider spoke, his voice marking him as a male. He sounded like a human, but his vaguely-present accent was unlike anything Eragon had heard before. The deep voice also possessed a different quality; one of calm assurance…and a cold, calculating one. They seemed to be deeply intertwined with each other.

This person was not remotely shaken by the sight of a dragon, an elf and a dwarf under the mountain. Who was he?

"You have found them," Arya replied, her voice sounding as musical and exotic as ever.

"Who is your leader?" The armoured figure then asked.

Orik scowled and Arya's eyes narrowed even further, signifying her anger.

"Do you think you can just march in here and demand to see our leader?" Fredric shouted and hefted his battle-axe, readying himself to deliver a crushing blow. "Someone should teach you some manners!"

"Why do you wish to seek Aj- our leader?" Eragon replied, scolding himself mentally for almost spilling Ajihad's name. He had tried to make the weapons-master's comment sound less of a threat by showing curiosity, but in doing so he had almost gave away important information.

The strange, blood-red tinted helmet turned ever so slightly to his direction, making him feel like he was being watched by some hellish spawn. Durza's gaze had nothing to the unyielding, unflinching stare of this rider.

Eragon was certain that these two had come to the Varden to assassinate its leader. He couldn't let that happen.

But he was thankful to have Arya by his side, for his courage might have forsaken him otherwise.

The rider took two calm steps forwards and everyone instantly tensed up, preparing themselves for a violent battle.

Dwarves and humans had appeared on all sides, armed with bows and arrows ready to be launched when the situation demanded it.

Eragon swallowed and stepped forwards too. As a rider, it was his task to defend the Varden when an obvious threat had appeared. "Who are you?" he asked, but the newcomer ignored him.

Arya also stepped forwards, her hand slowly traveling down to the sheath of her strange sword.

"I shall ask one final time," She stated. Even though her voice still had a musical quantity to it, Eragon felt that it was obvious that Arya sounded angry. "Why are you here?"

The rider looked at Arya and took another step forwards, causing at least twelve archers to aim their bows at him. If they weren't careful, they might hit Arya in their volley.

"Your leader," The figure replied with his curiously sounding voice, "I need to talk to him."

Arya crossed her arms and Orik lost his temper. "Do you think you get to meet the Varden's leader after sneaking in like this, bringing with you a dragon? I ask of you, where did you get it? Only the king has access to the eggs! You must be sent by him! You should be very careful, lest we execute you!"

"Try," The newcomer challenged them, his voice dropping in volume but increasing in animosity.

Eragon couldn't fathom why anyone would dare a group with more numbers to 'try' and execute him, but he knew that he did not want to fight with this person. It would only result in the death of the people close to him and he did not want to harm a dragon.

Then one of the archers on the walkway above them lost his cool and released the string of his bow, sending an arrow plunging down towards the armoured figure.

But the rider moved with a speed that Eragon had never seen before, not even during his brief duels with Arya and Durza. The grey figure simply stepped to the side, letting the arrow sail right past him impact on the floor, shattering the wooden shaft.

Then, before any of them could realize what was going on, the rider snapped back and raised the black thing in his hands, pointed it at the unfortunate archer and-

-and the black dragon roared violently, causing Eragon to immediately clasp his hands against his ears. Orik and Fredric stepped back and even Arya flinched. The black dragon was in a healthy condition, that much was certain.

The unknown rider shifted his appearing weapon back and turned to face the dragon. Eragon recognized the action; the man was probably communicating via the unique bond that a dragon shared with a rider. The sheer fluidness and elegance of this one's movement was…astonishing. Inhuman. This being had to be a shade. There was no other option.

And then it hit him: the dragon had stopped the rider from retaliating against the archer! That must mean that the dragon was still in full control over its mind…so it was still in control over its rider as well. This could not be a forced bond like the king had with Shruikan, so this had to be a full rider!

And if he hadn't attacked them yet…what did it want? Was it playing a game with them?

"Who took that shot?" Fredric shouted and gestured violently with his armoured hands. "Nobody has given permission to do so!"

The rider turned his gaze back to them and –completely ignoring the excruciatingly tense atmosphere- aimed the weapon at them.

Saphira slowly shifted her attention from the dark rider to the black dragon, eying it curiously. Eragon felt intensely glad that there was one more dragon out there, but if it was here to attack them that gladness would quickly change into dread.

'_What do you think Saphira?'_ He asked his partner, '_What of the dragon?'_

But Saphira ignored him, staring intensely at the other dragon that, up to that point, had been focusing more on Arya, Orik and him.

But now that Saphira had turned her attention to it, the black dragon seemed intrigued in her too. It slowly walked forwards, not listening to the various cries of warning and distress from the guards, to get to Saphira.

As if the interaction between the two dragons was the foundation for all further negotiations, the present dwarves and humans all seemed to hold their breath and watch unflinchingly.

Eragon watched nervously as both dragons moved towards each other, every fiber of his body alert for any sudden movements. Saphira should be able to overpower the smaller dragon, but the same could not be said for its rider.

After a minute that felt more like an hour, the two dragons touched each other briefly with their noses, instantly retreating after that movement. He saw Arya softly letting out some air and Orik nervously fumbling with his beard. The grey rider still had his weapon aimed at them, paying no heed to the two interacting dragons. Eragon knew that if he were to interfere now, a fight would break out. This situation demanded their patience, otherwise it would only end in tragedy.

"Are the twins still alive?" Fredric asked the armoured man while the two dragons edged towards each other again, lowering his weapon as a sign of peace. "What did you do to them at the entrance?"

No reply.

Saphira softly snorted and smelled at the black dragon's flank, as if she wanted to make sure that it was a real thing. The other dragon did the same with Saphira's neck and like that, the two gracious creatures got to know each other.

After another minute or two had passed, his partner finally broke off the contact and edged back, without tearing her gaze off of the other dragon.

'_She is not our enemy,'_ Saphira explained to him.

'_She?'_ he replied with a shock. He had secretly been hoping that this dragon was a male, so that the two of them could work together to…prevent the dragons from slipping into extinction.

'_Yes. It is most unfortunate. However, we have…communicated with each other. Have you done the same with her rider?'_

'_No…I would not dare extending my mind towards something like that. Did she tell you what he is?'_

'_Only that he is her true partner-of-mind and that they wish for the Varden's help. She will do…but the rider won't. He simply won't. He smells too wrong…I can't stand him.'_

He scraped his throat and tried to get the attention of the people around him. "Saphira believes them to be sincere; they seek the Varden for help."

"She –that is, you trust them?" Orik asked Saphira.

She hummed deep in her chest and eyed the dwarf. '_Tell him that I trust the dragon…not the rider.'_

'_Saphira!' _he countered, feeling shocked. '_If I say that, they will want to lock him up like Murtagh!'_

'_Good. Let that demon rot away behind metal. Tell them to use a lot of locks.'_

'_Saphira!'_

'…_fine. But I will be keeping a close eye on it.'_

'_That is alright, as long as you won't threaten them.'_

'_Hah! I shall decide that.'_

"What now?" Fredric asked. "Do we let them in?"

"Ajihad will decide this," Arya stated, "it is up to him to allow them inside of the Varden or not."

Slowly, the surrounding soldiers eased up and lowered their weapons.

"Alright people!" The weapons-master then shouted at the gathering warriors, "Continue with your work! Nothing to be seen here! Move along!"

The grey rider slowly lowered his weapon, but did not place it back in its sheath –or wherever it was kept. His dragon threw one last glance at Saphira and then followed him as he moved towards them, as it was apparent that they were going to show him where to go.

Arya never let the rider out of her eyes and neither did her tension ease up.

Orik fidgeted with the edge of his axe and continued staring as intensely at the newcomer as Arya did, never faltering right to the point where he almost tripped over a rock, at which point Eragon quickly helped him stay upright.

"Accursed being!" The dwarf grumbled. "This does not feel right Eragon, not right at all. Morzan's son here is one matter, but this…thing?"

"So you do not know what he is either?" Eragon replied.

"No. We shall have to wait for Ajihad to decide, but until then…do not come anywhere near that one. He feels wrong."

"Saphira said something like that too! That he smelled of 'death and destruction'. I wonder what she means."

"Aye…so do I."

Eragon then turned around and watched as the giant man followed Fredric, who seemed to be as nervous as every other soldier that he had chewed out. He was a very unlucky man, to be the one to escort the rider to Varden´s leader.

'_Will Ajihad be alright?'_ He asked Saphira.

'_I hope so. He has treated us most courteously.'_

He swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat and stared at Fredric and the rider until the door eventually closed behind them. Arya had followed them, as if she felt like it was her official duty to accompany them.

Eragon knew that she was supposed to be the ambassador, so why was she following this rider? Was she going to test him too? Or did she think he was a completely different being altogether? No…that didn't make sense.

"I have seldom seen an elf get agitated like that," Orik told him. "If Arya is truly upset with that rider…I would not want to be him."

"Indeed," Eragon stated., remembering the raw physical power that elves possessed. They were stronger and faster than any man. "I would not want her to be mad with me."

But he still had the feeling that it wasn't only Arya whose wrath should be feared.

~0~

The Spartan entered a well-ordered, two-story study paneled with rows of wooden bookshelves. A metal staircase led to a small balcony with a table and two chairs, while white lanterns hung along the walls at frequent intervals. The stone floor was covered with some rug and at the far end of the room, a man stood behind a large desk.

The man was bald, black and in possession of a small beard. The air he gave off was an air of command, leading the Spartan to think that this man was in charge of the Varden.

That was positive. The doors were large enough for Aeraleth to fit in behind him and as he followed the elf and the man, he took notice of someone closing it behind them.

He remembered how important this man had been to the group of people that had been waiting for them. The situation had been about to escalate when the trigger-happy archer had shot at them. The only reason that he had not immediately slaughtered the entire flanking archway was…well, because Aeraleth had implored him not to. She had roared to get his attention and with impressive speed, she had formulated a message in-between the shot and his coming counter-attack. Its contents had been clear and he had withheld his fire, saving the archers from certain death.

The broad-shouldered man had entered the room first, to prepare the leader for the coming meeting. While he had been doing that, the Spartan had taken notice of the elf keeping a very close eye on him.

It had confused him. She was treating him with hostility, even though he was about to meet her leader. Not a clever thing to do.

"So," The man behind the desk said and clasped his hands behind his back, "a new rider has appeared? You took a lot of risk in knocking the twins out, for I understand that is why they were not accompanying them. "

He raised an eyebrow, surprised at how sharp this man was. It appeared that the Varden's leader was not as incompetent as he had thought.

Then the man paused and stared at him, eyeing his suit. "Take a seat."

The Spartan took a look at the richly padded chair and snorted in disapproval. "I'll stand."

"Very well. A dwarven runner is on his way to fetch the twins as we speak, so that they might continue their reading. But until that moment arrives, I cannot welcome you further yet."

He didn't care for welcome. As the dark-skinned man sat back in his chair and started staring at Aeraleth, he took the initiative to speak. But before he could think of anything that didn't went along the lines of 'I want information', the large-shouldered man stepped forwards and bowed himself to bring his head to the same level as the leader's.

Then he whispered: "Saphira and Eragon stated that these two are here for our help…they trust them sir."

The man's eyes narrowed and he placed his hand by his chin, thinking his words through.

Neither of them was aware that the super-soldier could hear every word they said.

'_Why is that elf so mad at us?'_ He asked Aeraleth. Not that he gave a damn about the elf's feelings; it was purely so that he might consider her animosity in the coming possible conflicts.

And so that he knew how to unbalance her should a fight be inevitable. An emotional enemy was a weak enemy.

'_Can you not guess? Your attitude and refusal to answer their honest questions were annoying to most, if not all of your future allies.'_

'_Not allies. Assets.'_

"Arya, Fredric, you may leave."

Arya nodded and turned around to leave, but the human wasn't so willing to leave. "Sir!" He said with shock. "I can't-"

"Now."

The man swallowed and hastily exited the office too, throwing the Spartan a wary look before he left.

Once only the three of them were left, the balding man spoke up again. "My name is Ajihad. I am the leader of the Varden. I understand that you snuck your way into Tronjheim –the city-mountain- after having incapacitated the twins, who were only going to search your mind for the truth. Is there any way I can not take this as a violent act?"

The Spartan sighed and replied with the answer that he had been preparing in his head ever since having heard that he would meet the man at the top. "I found the results of a battle, made my way to the entrance of what was thought to be a Rebel outpost and neutralized two obvious hostile elements. The twins survived because they were part of the Varden, but their actions identified them as the enemy."

Ajihad frowned when he heard that. "You talk like a veteran of combat. I am very curious to your origins, loyalty and arms but I must ask something else first."

Ajihad then waited for him to reply, but when he didn't the man continued nonetheless. "I need you to tell me how you, probably a kid, managed to get your hands on a dragon's egg when there are only two we know of."

"I acquired it," He replied.

"These eggs," Ajihad then clarified, "are in direct possession of Galbatorix. Not even our combined network of spies and agents has managed to steal one. It would be suicide to attempt it. Do you see the problem here? Without the king's consent, you could not have gotten a dragon's egg."

He saw the problem alright; normal humans were insufficient for a high-risk high-reward suicide mission. He was not a normal human. "I undertook an aerial insertion, breached a building and battled two shades. I accidentally encountered the egg, thought it to be a treasure of great value to the empire and took it."

"Impossible," Ajihad stated. "No mortal being can fight two shades at once. Only two people have been capable of killing a shade in the past; one an elf and the other a human rider."

He shrugged. "I killed one of them, here in the Mountains."

"The Beor Mountains? There was a shade here?" Ajihad suspiciously asked. "What did he look like?"

"_She_," He corrected, "had red hair, eyes and black clothes. She was a pain to kill."

"How was it done? How did you perform the kill?" The man urged him.

He straightened his back, remembering how he had murdered the female. "Crushed her internal organs, spine and then shot her in her head."

The dark-skinned man sighed and leaned back in her chair. "Then you did not kill her. Shades can only be killed by a thrust through the heart. Anything short of that will just cause them to vanish and reappear somewhere else. It is a painful process, but this new shade will appear stronger than ever. A female you say?"

'_Figures, ´ _He told Aeraleth. ´_Can you take over? I hate talking.'_

'_Then you should practice in doing so. You do an excellent job though.'_

'_You don't understand. I want Intel, but I won't share it. If Ajihad pushes me for classified Intel, he will be a threat.'_

Aeraleth softly growled and shifted her wings, which was something that Ajihad did not miss.

"Let me not forget you, oh dragon. Your part is as important in this as _his_."

Aeraleth hummed approvingly, delighted in the positive attention.

"I need to know if I can trust you two. And until the twins search your mind, I cannot."

Tough. "I need information; I'm not from around."

"I thought as much from your armour. Who are you then? Where did you come from?"

He hesitated for a few seconds, during which Aeraleth helped him think it through.

'_You seek his help. He has accepted your presence without fighting you. Can you not tell him what you told me?'_

'_I don't...'_

'_Go ahead. I shall assist when you need me.'_

'_Assist me now.'_

He scraped his throat- already feeling that it was getting sore- and started explaining. "I came from the stars-"

But his explanation was incredibly cut short. Ajihad jumped up from his desk and started cursing in some foreign language. However, he calmed himself down after a few seconds and sat down again. "From the stars you say…I must admit, those words ring with a looming threat. This explains…some things. Are there more of you?"

Ajihad's sudden change in words was unprecedented for and the Spartan contemplated his next words for a while. This was obviously an intelligent, open-minded man. The truth would be better.

"Our craft was understaffed…and took fire above Uru'baen. I jumped and caught the shades by surprise. Our ship then flew away, but I presume them KIA."

"What is the meaning of that last word?"

"Killed in action. Seven of them."

Ajihad sighed and ticked on his desk with his fingers while he thought about a new question. "I need you to tell me everything that befell to you. If you speak the truth…and you truly came from the stars…we have a large problem. Are you certain you are alone?"

"Positive."

"How did you bond with the dragon? Are you human or elf?"

"Spartan."

"Excuse me?"

"I am a Spartan."

"What is-"

"It is what you can call me."

Ajihad frowned. "Your attitude is more than troubling. You are in the presence of a leader…one in command. You would be wise to show respect…if you were before another leader, you would be killed for your disrespect."

He raised his head. "That other leader would have died."

The bald man shook his head and sighed. "A lack of realism that might get you killed. Your confidence in your own skill might be misplaced, if you failed to kill the shade. Still, you are a rider and you are now with us. I take it you wish to fight the empire?"

"Yes."

"Then we will need to test your skills."

That was not going to happen. "No."

He half expected Ajihad to protest again, but the man did no such thing. Instead, he leaned forwards and started explaining things again. Ajihad spoke about the Varden, their relationship with the dwarves and elves, their fight against the empire and their need for a rider.

"I have warned Eragon about this too. There are groups out there just waiting to get a hold on you-"

'_They are welcome to try,´_ He told Aeraleth.

"-and you will be the center of many political schemes. But for now, your identity is an enigma. Nobody knows where a new rider came from and they won't know how to deal with you. Tell them not about your star-born origin, for it will sew dissonance and regret."

"What do I say then?" He asked, feeling annoyed.

'_The same thing you always say; not a word!'_ Aeraleth replied with an amused tone.

Ajihad was silent for a moment before he replied. "I know nothing of you. Neither do they. Tell them no more than they need to know."

"Who is they?"

The dark-skinned man smiled. "Why, the crowds of course. Do you think any rider would go unnoticed? People will come to you with many things. Problems, dilemmas and difficult questions. It is up to you to live up to the name of the riders."

"No," He answered and stepped closer to Ajihad. "Now I want answers. First: what is magic?"

"Magic?" The Varden's leader repeated with a frown. "You do not know of magic?"

"As far as I know, it doesn't exist."

Then again, neither did dragons and he had been wrong at that point too.

"Magic…simple said…is the manipulation of energy. Magic is the art of thinking, in which you are only limited by your ingenuity and knowledge of the Ancient Language. But whatever you do with Magic, will always require the same energy as if you had done it with your body. If you lack the required energy, you die. The twins would be able to tell you more of this. If you lack any knowledge of magic, your power in the war will be far less than we could have hoped for. You need to learn and quick. Meet the twins. Talk to them."

Magic? The twins could teach him how to perform a magical feat?

'_Sounds convenient,' _Aeraleth stated.

´_Sounds frustrating.´_ He hated those two. In fact, he hated everyone he had met: the boy and his dragon, the dwarf and the elf and Ajihad. They were all frustrating and the very thought of them made his skin itch, his stomach and twist. It made him want to grab this bald man's head and-

He softly shook his head, taking a deep breath. Of course he didn't hate the people he had only just met. What was wrong with him?

'_Are you alright?'_ Aeraleth asked him, sounding worried.

'_Fine.'_

'_Your mind jumped, your walls crumbled. I felt some strange emotions…unlike any I have felt before.'_

'_Not now Aeraleth!'_

'_Peace little soldier. Calm your blood.'_

"Where else can I learn this…magic?" He asked, repressing all urges to kill to a little hole deep inside of his mind.

A new headache was acting up already.

"The twins can teach you some of their words…you could converse with Eragon and perhaps Arya would be willing to divulge some knowledge…but try not to attempt that unless you feel desperate. She is our ambassador and elves are…different."

"So are urgals."

"Urgals are not as easily insulted as elves are…and neither will they hold a grudge for as long. No, you must certainly not insult Arya. I say this as a kindness. And now you must leave. I have more important things to discuss now. At the moment, there is nothing you can do. I will have a messenger point the twins to you, they will take the next step in our…alliance."

"Any idea how to counter the army that's gathering in the nearby mountains?"

Ajihad frowned again, pausing in his words. "Come again?"

"Urgals. Hundreds of them. Mountains."

"I…have not heard of this before. If they are gathering for an attack then…I have many things to take care of. Be gone now, Spartan."

Said Spartan sighed and turned around, feeling glad that he could finally leave the presence of this man. He had learned a lot in the past hour and only the bare minimum of it all made sense to him. His headache was frustrating and distracting and he wanted to be alone with his companion for a while.

He opened the door and found himself face-to-face with the elven lady. She had been waiting for him to exit?

Remembering the warning he had received about elves, he placed the sidearm that he had hurriedly pulled out back again and stepped closer to the female, reducing their distance to mere inches.

Her exotic, strangely appealing face was very close to his and he only had to look down a few inches to reach her gaze. She stood taller than six feet, making her as tall as a well-built man. Her face wasn't the only exotic part of her appearance: a leather strap encircled her brow, restraining her long, black hair. Her feminine shape was clad in plan, black leather and a thin sword hung at her hip.

It was pretty obvious that this too as a nonhuman. Just what had he gotten himself into?

He stared at her and she stared right back at him. Her eyes had a certain demeanor to them…calculating, but not neccesarily cold. If she wanted to appear uncaring and cold, she was not doing a very good job. He could see in her eyes that she had been terribly hurt in the past. Physical or mental? It had to be physical, because she withstood his gaze and stared right back at him without faltering. Her willpower had to be very strong, but it wasn't strong enough to completely conceal the demons that she seemed to possess.

The Spartan reached the conclusion that the elven lady was still recovering from some unknown bodily harm and, after having stared at her for exactly three seconds since he had exited Ajihad's room, she blinked.

Her hard demeanor flinched; so subtly that it was barely visible and he wasn't even sure if he had seen it right, but he still took the moment to break their contact nonetheless.

He was certain that he could overpower her in combat, whether she possessed magic or not. She wasn't the biggest threat to him.

The other dragon was.

While the Spartan walked down the staircase again, he felt a strange sensation near his right foot. It had been there for a while, but it had intensified over the course of the past few hours. It had grown into a form of discomfort and he did not like that.

'_Aeraleth?'_ He asked the dragon. In this world of elves, dwarves and dragons he felt completely out of his place. He did not belong here, he understood that. `The only thing that linked him with any of the living beings down here was Aeraleth. Was his life in the UNSC truly over? Would he be stuck in Alagaesia for months? The battlegroup he had come from _was_ the reinforcements. They _had_ been the back-up. And he had no reason to believe that any of the other ships would come to their aid.

No, by the time the UNSC figured out where he was or even what had happened, more than simply a few months would have passed.

He was stuck.

'_What is it little soldier?'_

He did not know what to do next. Normally, he had a clear goal of what to do. A long-term strategy, multiple tactics or even a back-up plan. Now? The only goal he had was to free the eggs that Galbatorix had in his possession. And that was purely because Aeraleth wanted that to happen; he hadn't seen anything in the empire that justified the existence of the Varden. The only reason he hadn't sided with the empire was because they had attacked the UNSC first –something which the Varden would most likely have also done, had they had the chance.

No. These people were not his allies. '_Where do we go now?'_

'_Now you rest. You have been walking with an urgal's pace for ten days nonstop, without food and with barely any water.'_

'_I don't need rest.'_

'_Yes you do, do not presume lie to me. I do not know what befell you in Ajihad's office, but you were on the verge of murdering him without provocation.'_

That surprised him. '_No I wasn't.'_

'_Must I explain our joined minds once more?'_

He frowned, remembering the whole 'mind-join' thing with perfect clarity. Aeraleth was in his head; in his mind and among his thoughts. He couldn't hide anything for her.

'_I suppressed it. It's nothing.'_

'_Nevertheless, I require a calm place to straighten my own thoughts.'_

He could use a calm place too. '_Where to?'_

'_That I do not know. Were we not supposed to wait for the twins?'_

'_I don't take orders from anyone here.'_

'_Fair enough. Do you not wish to learn about magic?'_

He shrugged. '_It would be convenient.'_

The interior of this…Tronjheim…was positive for his traveling with Aeraleth. She could go almost anywhere where he could go and that was strangely comforting to him, for some reason.

They made their way to the room where they had been before the man called Fredric had escorted them to Ajihad. It was less populated now, as both the kid and his dragon had disappeared.

There was a lone dwarf standing there, his back rigid as he stood at attention.

"Greetings rider," The dwarf said with a very thick accent, "I must…escort…you to…the twins. They seek to…assist…you."

The little dwarf sounded like he had a hard time speaking normal, human words.

"Why?" he asked.

The dwarf stuttered when he replied, indicating that he was scared. "A-Ajihad's orders."

Whatever. He could use those twins to his own advantage. Should they want to delve into his mind again, he would kill them.

Or break their legs. That would be better the alliance.

The Spartan saw civilians everywhere he looked as he followed the dwarf through a series or tunnels. Dwarves, humans, males and females: all of them were staring at him like he was about to kill them and all of them were irritating him with their constant eyeing.

Of course, the super-soldier knew the reason for their staring. His appearance, coupled with his reputation as a rider, made him someone to be watched at all times. Surely some of these noncombatants had been ordered to keep a close eye on him.

Finally the slow dwarf reached an intersection in the large tunnel.

"Left lies a library," The dwarf said, having recovered from his fear-induced stutter. "Right l-lies an entrance to a w-watchtower. In t-there, your d-dragon can…fit." Or not.

He nodded at the dwarf and then turned left, curious as to whether the twins were going to be as arrogant as they had been right before he had knocked them out.

´_What do you think?' _He asked Aeraleth as he marched towards the entrance of the library. The tunnels in Tronjheim were all large enough to contain a dragon larger than her and many of the buildings were contained in enormous hollows, where dozens of structures had been erected. In theory, Aeraleth could fly most distances instead of walking. '_Is the tower sufficient?'_

'_I am traveling there now. It holds a dominant position over many buildings, that is certain.'_

'_But?'_

'_But it is too open. People might visit us, will that be a problem?'_

'_Yes. I can't store my weapons when civvies might hurt themselves with them.'_

'_I will just have to scare them away then.'_

'_Thanks.'_

He had his M6D sidearm, his MA5E Assault Rifle and two M7A/Caseless Submachine Guns. During his travels, he had come to rely on his Assault Rifle for every situation. As such, he had almost forgotten about the twin SMG's attached to his thighs. If the Varden would mobilize to take Uru'baen, those weapons would be vital to their victory. Where pistol and Assault rifle fire failed to bring down Brutes and Elites, the SMG's did not. Though woefully inaccurate at long-range, the M7 series has always been absolutely lethal at close-range.

And his SMG's had received an upgrade. Even though the rounds tore through flesh, bone and even metals with ease, they were still stopped by thick and heavy armour, like the plating of Hunters and vehicles.

The caseless rounds were coated in a 'jacket' that aided it in bodily penetration. However, ONI had managed to create a different coating for the rounds, causing them to adept armour piercing properties.

Without those AP properties, the soldiers of the Empire would all fall before his fire. With those AP properties…a single round could potentially kill up to four well-armoured soldiers.

But only at close range.

He didn't have much munition for his weapons though, Five 12-round clips for his pistol, six 60-round clips for his Assault rifle and eight 60-round clips for his SMG's. Recent developments in magnetic adherence had made it possible for him to store his ammunition without sacrificing mobility or space, but he found his arsenal limited nonetheless.

'_Shout if you need me,'_ He then told his companion.

'_I was about to tell you the same thing.'_

For the first time since having acquired Aeraleth's egg, he smiled. She was the only living being that he knew was worried about him. He met his fellow Spartans every now and then, but most of them were just like him: focused on the mission.

He was a weapon to ONI, hope to marines and death to the Covenant. But never before had he been something more than that. To Aeraleth, he was much more than a killing-machine. She cared for him despite of everything he did. To her, he was a person.

She was precious to him too. She was the first being that cared for him beyond a means for victory. He was not accustomed to that and it was difficult to deal with. But…despite his pitiful attempts at communication, the dragon had refused to leave his side. She honestly liked him and that made her important. As such, she would be his biggest priority until the UNSC could pick him up again.

The Spartan walked up a few steps and then walked through a door-opening, entering a rather small library. There were only one level inside of the building and the room he found himself in was roughly twenty by twenty meters, dominated by shelves with books. His motion tracker indicated at least seven humanoid beings scattered throughout the room –and two of them were very close to each other.

The twins. Magicians…mindbreakers and guardians.

The Spartan didn't trust them one bit.

He moved towards the two intertwined contacts, as quiet as he could.

'_Aeraleth, I got contact,'_ He told his partner.

The dragon immediately concentrated on him and brought her thoughts close to him, bordering near his consciousness to wait for something. '_I can join my thoughts with you, increasing your defense and protecting you against outsiders. But I need you to allow me in.´_

That alarmed the Spartan. ´_Stay clear of my memories! You´ll hurt yourself.´_

_´I follow your advice. I need you to steer me to the safe parts of your mind; your escort is vital.'_

He nodded and concentrated on the warm presence of Aeraleth in his mind, trying to suppress the thoughts that might harm her sanity. Eventually, he managed to create a place in his consciousness that was larger than all other forms of telepathy, allowing his dragon to intertwine her active thoughts with his.

He clenched his hands softly when he felt the dragoness' overwhelming presence. He had never truly understood the scale of her mind, the raw power that her consciousness radiated. She was a dragon, but the vast scale of her mind was beyond almost everything he had seen or felt.

It was unsettling in a way, but he also felt strangely comforted by the fact that she wasn't similar to humans. It made him feel like he was part of something above him, instead of below. That way, he could still do something worthwhile. His effort wouldn't be wasted, as this world was obviously important.

Aeraleth was the living proof.

Once he had intertwined his active thoughts with those of his dragon, he stepped around the corner and faced the twins.

They had obviously been expecting him, as his silent approach had not caught them off guard. Perhaps this was the same scenario as the one where an imperial spellcaster had found out about his approach without seeing him? There had to be a way to spot people from a distance to these guys, otherwise he would have been virtually undetected.

"You," One of the two sneered at him. They were both wearing their strange purple garbs and their hands were not visible.

"It seems that Ajihad has provided you with…safe presence in Tronjheim," The other one added. "He was done this without consulting us regarding you, rider."

"But as it is now, we have both committed wrongs. We apologize on our part."

The two then bowed to him, an obviously condescending gesture that he did not understand. But when he was not forthcoming with an apology on his own, their smug expressions changed.

Now they were unamused. "Ajihad has also told us about your lack of education."

His lack of education? He had had more than eight collective years of training.

"However, we were chosen to instruct you in the finer applications of magic. If you behave accordingly and treat us with the necessary…respect…we can make a deal."

"We teach you how to become a magician and in turn, you will join us,"

Their voices became more pleasant and their expressions lost their arrogance once again. "The few magic users who live in Tronjheim have formed a group. We call ourselves Du Vrangr Gata, or the wandering path."

Ajihad had told him that magic was employed by using words and then shifting energy with the mind. The twins had a group called Du Vrangr Gate, in which the word 'Du' meant 'the' and the words 'Vrangr Gata' meant wandering path, respectively. In having revealed this information to him, the twins had already taught him three new words that he could use.

"Your power in the mind, as we discerned from our little skirmish earlier, matches that of ours-"

'_I believe it was superior,'_ Aeraleth dryly stated.

"- and we would be honored to have someone with your…mental capabilities…in our group. We could teach you many things, like words of power and the ways of magic."

"In return?" He asked them, resisting the urge to kill these two where they stood.

"Why, in return we ask nothing!" The lead bald man then stated with a big smile.

"However, if you would see fit to share your own knowledge with us so that we might be able to better understand magic, we could help you better. Nothing would gladden us more," The other one then conceitedly added. "We are curious to that strange memory. What were you fighting?"

"Cut the crap," He barked, shutting the two babbling men up, "I don't care for your group. I need you to teach me magic ASAP."

Their eyes darkened and just like that, they dropped their façade of smiles. "We are not to be trifled with boy!" One of them snarled, his face a mask of anger. "We were ordered to teach you, but that can be most unpleasant! It only takes one misconceived spell to kill!"

'_Watch out!'_ Aeraleth told him, '_You hold no knowledge of magic, to use it against them would be futile!'_

He took that last remark of the twins as a direct threat and handled accordingly. He reached out, grabbed the first bald man by his bald head and then baldly slammed said bald head against the wooden shelf next to his bald body. The impact was gentle and weak, but it hurt the very bald man and that was what he had aimed at.

While the first one stumbled backwards with a bleeding nose, The Spartan grabbed the second one by his throat and effortlessly lifted him in the air. A mental attack barraged his mind, but now that he had indulged himself in combat he had slipped into a serene start where the attack could not faze him.

"Wrong," He growled at his victim, "Spartans never die. Tell me how to train myself in magic or I will crush your throat."

Despite his threat and actions, he felt at peace. He felt calm. This was what he had been trained for; to gather information, kill enemies and win missions. Mastering magic was another mission and this was a way to complete it. This was what he was good at. He had no desire to train with the twins; as a Spartan, he was extremely adapted at changing the rules in the battlefield. He could adapt to everything safe for civilian life and because of his capable intellect, mastering a new language would be easy.

"_You are among the few that has been chosen, not for your life but for your potential," _The words of Colonel Ackerson echoed in his mind. "_Your superior genes will allow you to strike back at those that destroyed your world."_

The Secret-Spartans were all smarter, stronger and faster than any normal humans. He did not need two arrogant magicians to train him; he would not allow anyone else to train him. He had been trained already.

"Y-yes!" The bald man in his grasp managed to utter. "T-teach y-your…self then!"

He let the man go and the robed magician slipped to the floor, gasping for air as he held his bruised throat.

"You will pay for that!" The man gasped as his bleeding brother helped him up,

"Your brutal force is nothing compared to our skills!" The one with the bloody nose hissed, his voice filled with malice and hate.

The Spartan pulled out his combat knife and started towards the two disgraced twins, but more violence was not needed.

"Fine!" The bruised one exclaimed. "Take a stone, pebble or piece of wood…hold it in your hands and use the words 'Stenr Reisa', or 'rise, stone'. The rest is up to you, insolent child!"

'_Not a child,'_ He told Aeraleth when the two men had scurried away. Why was it that battle-hardened veterans thought him to be a god of death, while inexperienced scholars thought he was a child?

'_Only the young ones can be bonded to a dragon. To anyone else, a beginning rider is a child. To me, you are a partner of mind and heart. Be at ease, young soldier, for you can still be considered a child.'_

He nodded, realized that she could not see him and then decided to try and so something for her too. He was acting rather selfish. She had done nothing but try and help him through tough times –it was time for him to live up to their bond for once. He had allowed her in his mind, so he might as well trust her with other things. When they were going to face tougher magicians, they would need to work together too. He couldn't have Aeraleth shell-shocked or traumatized by the things in his mind in the middle of an important fight.

'_Come join me at the watchtower, rider of mine. I wish to fly with you.'_

He frowned, remembering the problem that came with flying with his partner. '_Acknowledged, ETA two minutes.'_

Zero-zero-seven gave the disgraced and begrudged twins no more thought and exited the library. He would be very careful with experimenting with magic, as an overexertion would kill him. He didn't know of the rules of magic, but if he started with carefully lifting a rock, nothing would go wrong.

'_A stone?'_ Aeraleth later asked him in the watchtower. The stone tower was easily twenty meters tall and broad enough for the dragon to land, sleep and move around in it. He had stored his assault rifle and SMG's behind a nearby rock, at the very top of the tower.

'_Yes,'_ He replied as he lay back against the wall, resting his body while Aeraleth had curled herself up in front of him. '_If I can manipulate this, I can work at increasing its velocity.'_

'_Wouldn't a velocity too great exhaust you?' _She asked him with evident worry.

'_No,'_ He assured her, remembering how he had killed Grunts, Jackels and even humans with a thrown rock without breaking a sweat. And he could do that without his armour too. '_I can kill with normal thrown rocks. Accelerate it with magic and I have a MAC.'_

'_A what?'_

´_An magnetic accelerated cannon.'_

Or magic accelerated cannon, he realized.

'_How is…that…similar to this?'_

'_With enough force, everything is a weapon.'_

Aeraleth fell silent, contemplating his words. Or more than simply his words, as her next comeback completely took him by surprise. '_You have killed for a long time, yes?'_

'_Yes,'_ He said without hesitation. It was obvious to his partner that he had been trained extensively and his familiarity with combat had given his experience away even to the untrained eye.

'_But you are only nineteen summers old.'_

He was surprised that she knew that. '_Affirmative.'_

'_Was the war of your people so desperate that they required such young warriors?'_

She didn't know the half of it. '_The Spartans were unique. Thirty Spartans of the second generation, created more than thirty years ago and thirteen Secret-Spartans, created…more recently.'_

He didn't want her to know just how old he had been when he had been conscripted. It would disgust her and he didn't want her to be disgusted with him.

'_The rest of our soldiers were adults.'_

'_What sets you apart from the normal soldiers? Your armour? Why were you chosen?'_

'_I had the potential,'_ He replied. '_My home was destroyed when I was young. The Office of Naval Intelligence–the military research organization- came to me and offered me the chance to get back at the Covenant.' _Then he looked at the small rock, roughly two inches across, in his hand and muttered: "Stenr Reisa."

Nothing happened. As expected. These people might have grown up with magic in their lives, but he hadn't. He had never before used magic and prior to seeing the proof, he hadn't even believed it to exist.

Nevertheless, he persevered. He would never give something up if he could reach a victory with it and he had done stranger things with Aeraleth.

'_This Covenant destroyed your home?'_ Aeraleth softy asked. The feeling that she was currently sending through their mental link was called 'pity'. He did not want it. '_How old were you then?'_

'_Young,'_ He replied without emotions. He had long since moved on. '_ONI trained me to be the protector of mankind.'_ He tried again: "Stenr Reisa."

The Spartan felt a strange strain in the back of his mind, but otherwise nothing happened.

Curious. That strain seemed to be placed in his ever-developing mind-scape. If he could manipulate and fortify his own mind…could he find the source of that strain and remove it?

'_Then your new duty is not as bad as you would believe. You are the protector of the innocent here too. A rider, for more races than one.'_

'_Back with the military, I was fighting a genocidal alien collective. They were obvious enemies. Here, the only reason I fight against the empire is their attack on our ship.' _ He found speaking with his mind easier than speaking with his mouth. His mind was trained, his throat was not.

He dug into the origin of the strain in his mind and found a strange barrier; a wall that had not been there before. He felt that power resided behind the walls and that power might well be a magical one, created by the bond of his dragon.

The Spartan shattered the defense with ease and dug into the small spot, but he got quickly pushed back by the overwhelming power that radiated from the small pit and spread itself throughout his mind. Aeraleth looked up when she felt the wave of illumination bounce against her own mind.

"Stenr Reisa," He spoke again and then the rock shot in the air, halting roughly half a meter high above his hand.

The power threatened to slip away, but he renewed his power over it and grasped it tight. The rock wobbled softly, but it stayed put.

'_Look at that! '_Aeraleth exclaimed. ´_You performed magic! Do you still believe it does not exist?'_

The Spartan stared at the rock, not believing what he was seeing. The telepathic link could have been a symbiotic process, the twins might have had installed a code-word to activate a lamp and dwarves might even be naturally occurring. But this? This was him. He had, through his armour and energy shields, lifted a rock by speaking a word.

'_No,'_ He replied. '_Magic is real. And I can do it.'_

He felt no different from lifting the rock, even though Ajihad said that magical actions were equal to physical ones. But he could do many things that were beyond normal humans without breaking a sweat.

He could even kill with magic. Accelerate a pebble to extreme speeds and then send them through the skulls of whoever opposed him. An excellent makeshift gun.

'_Aeraleth?'_ He asked his partner and hesitated. '_Why did you pick me?'_

'_What?'_

'_You said that you could choose your partner. You chose me. Was it because I had freed you? Or because I was the first person to come across?'_

Aeraleth had great difficulty answering his question. Eventually, she settled for showing him strange images and emotions, before adding words to the mix. '_I am not too sure. I felt a strange and compulsive need to…protect…and serve…the innocent and the helpless. You were ideal. I just needed to forge you into a rider.'_

He hesitated; hearing her reason for choosing him was very similar to how he had felt in the past. She caused him such confusion and hardship…but she was so important to him. The only thing that linked him to a land that he could never have understood on his own.

She deserved better than him. But he would not let her know that she had made the wrong decision; he would work hard to make sure that she wouldn't be disappointed.

The Spartan released the flow of energy in his mind and let the rock go. There were new rules in the coming war…new tactics to be employed. He would have to reconsider so many things…but it opened up even more possibilities.

And Aeraleth…he had allowed the dragoness closer in his mind than ever. Her thoughts had been intertwined with his thoughts and she had given him her council when he needed it. She was trustworthy.

'_My name,'_ He told her as he laid back and closed his eyes, '_is Maine.'_

'_Maine…'_ She repeated. '_You guard your name jealously.'_

He didn't respond to that. He didn't need to. Aeraleth knew that he valued his name and he knew that she respected his secrecy.

'_The twins will make a formidable foe. You have pushed them too far,'_ She told him after a few minutes or silence.

'_I did what I needed to. Should they try to harm us, I'll kill them. And feed them to you.'_

Aeraleth snorted loudly. ´_You think I would want to eat them? Furthermore: you feed a hatchling. You feed a child. But you do not feed me. I choose to eat!'_

'_Aren't you hungry now? You have been nonstop.'_

'_I hunger alright, but I can withstand it. I am more worried about you; when was the last time you ate?'_

'_Two days ago.'_

'_And drank?'_

'_Two days ago.'_

'_I will not have you collapsing from self-denying.'_

'_We rest for a few hours, then find something to eat. Copy?'_

'_Copy,'_ Aeraleth replied, surprising him.

'_When did you learn that?'_

'_There are many things in your mind. I stray away from your memories, but the longer we spent together the more I learn about you and your mental state. I agree with the twins at one point though.'_

'_Yes?'_ He asked her, intrigued in what she had to say. '_Which is?'_

'_The memory that came up when they searched your mind. What was it?'_

He knew what she was talking about. It was the memory of him eliminating a group of Grunts, right before he had jumped at an enemy turret-position.

'_Two years ago, during a battle on a different world. They are called 'Grunts'. '_

As the Spartan told his partner about the physiology of the Covenant race called grunts, he tried his best to show Aeraleth proper memories of how they looked like, always leaving out the more sensitive details.

She was very interested in his past. In time, when she was accustomed to his mind, he could show her greater details of the Human-Covenant war.

However, there were still many things that he did not want to show her. He had finally managed to form a proper bond with the dragoness and that could be ruined extremely easily by letting her know more about him.

Some things had to stay buried whatever the cost.

~0~

_From what I have gathered, the effects of the three drugs might be a desired one cooked up by Section Seven to stimulate the animal part of the brain during stressful scenarios, as doing so will result in a major increase in stamina, endurance and aggression, but they did not think about the aftereffects and side-effects of adding such drugs in the combination."_

- Mental Health Specialist Jennifer Sunfield, logbook entry 4, 24th of August 2552- continuation. .

~0~

_Fun fact: Spartans learn extremely fast._

_In the books, Eragon learned extremely fast too. As in, impossibly so. I will work hard at making Eragon an actual character in this fanfiction, instead of the cardboard hero that he was in the books. That means no Mary Sue elements, np prodigy effects and actual, realistic reactions to killing living beings._

_Because at this point, he has yet to make his first human kill. No sociopathic heroes besides our own ones thank you very much._

_~0~_


	7. A poisoned mind pt I

_Back with another chapter people! _

_**Edboy4926: **__Thanks._

_**Jcraft596: **__Oh, I sure imagine what a single Spartan can do. And I have a little plan for our twins. _

_**Kain Everguard: **__Indeed._

_**Tuutje07: **__Our Spartan is certainly aware of the things that can lie in the eye of the warrior. Why? Spoilers._

_The twins haven't done anything to harm our Spartan…yet. They simply decided that a lack of knowledge and training would harm him._

_**Anon: **__Damn. The 007-rap_

_**The Blue Tigrex: **__Meh…I kind of…hated the 3-4 book-era Eragon._

_Also, which sentence of Aeraleth did you mean?_

_And: the fact that Eragon has endured those things should only make him more emotional. And in my head –thus this fic- he has only killed urgals, because the hapless slaughter of one's fellow man comes easy only to psychopath's, sociopath's and severely conditioned soldiers in the moment. Not to designated heroes._

_**The lone Swordswolf: **__I am looking forward to writing that too. :)_

_**Themythick: **__To a certain extent, the wish of my reviewers is my command._

_**Sierra110: **__Ah, that is interesting. Let's see if 007 can rival that…in both speed and tearing._

_**The Reviewer: **__in my head, an elf is (nearly) as strong and (nearly) as durable as an unarmoured Spartan-III, while the II's and Secret-II's are a bit stronger, faster and durable. _

_**IlikedaBubbles: **__I knew that fact :D also, elf-Spartan duels will come. _

_And my sister has occupied the Xbox for a while now. I don't even think I have the time to game between writing and studying and working at school thingies :(_

_**Water Guardian 26: **__That would be awesome indeed._

_**Solar Jarl The Cannon King 44K: **__Oh dear, here we go again. Anyone know CPR? No?_

_Well…thanks for the compliments. The whole point for ONI in their Secret-Spartan project was not to create individuals or heroes, but…well, automatic-mission-completers. And those need to adapt, change and improvise on a daily level :3_

_**TheGoldkey: **__I was inspired by the name because it was a nice name, but I didn't mean it to be a reference, no._

_**Kane: **__Prophecy? Well…spoilers._

_I don't know about Elva. She was intriguing at first, but then she slowly turned in a Deus Ex Machina. If I decide on incorporating her in the story, she won't be playing a very big role._

_A Spartan's mental discipline is a very, very big and important part of their being. And as such: spoilers :D_

_And Raia has a different gambit planned out for this fight, why take a look at the following chapter!_

~0~

"_Raia, I take it that your lady has a plan for you to follow?"_

"_She has. She has accounted for me possibly surviving, in which case she will review the abomination's skills herself. And adapt to kill him."_

"_You would waste your life for her? For this rider? He is just one human. Incapacitate him and be done with it."_

"_I do not plan on dying when facing him, Durza. I plan to cause him untold misery as I haunt him for the rest of his life. But if it takes my life when doing so, so be it."_

~0~

The Spartan looked at his companion while he worked with the rock, trying to get the thing to rise higher in the air with more velocity. He had been practicing with the rock for three hours, trying to get it to do the most impossible things in order for him to learn more about magic. Due to the addition of magical energy manipulation in his arsenal, he had a thousand new ways to change and adept his tactics. But the only words of power –by which the entire magical world seemed to work- that he knew off, were 'stone', 'rise' and 'path'. Not really great ways to work things out.

Not only that, but he had found that channeling his energy was harder than he had imagined it to be. Lifting a rock was one thing, but sending it plummeting through a stone wall at speeds equal to a bullet was a completely different thing. That only tired him out and it didn't even work–the damn thing lodged itself into the wall and stayed stuck there at least half of the time, while it wouldn't even accelerate properly the other half of the time.

So much for improvised weaponry. He had briefly escaped having to waste ammo on ranged targets, only to run into a completely new problem with his solution. He could by no means fight properly without understanding more of this magic; flinging stones into the dark tunnel-system below when there was nobody looking would only get him so far.

If he wanted something dead, he could conjure up a spell to slit a throat, pinch of a major artery or even destroy local ganglia in someone's brain. But to do that, he needed the words that described such a thing. Had there been a word of power that translated to 'nerve' he could probably lay waste to an entire enemy army, but he had no such words. He seriously only had a rock.

And even with the words, he might possibly kill himself of exertion if he wasn't careful. To perform magic, one needed the same amount of energy that a mundane way would take. So he couldn't use magic to stop bullets, as he couldn't stop bullets with his bare hands. The kinetic energy of such a projectile needed to be less than the energy he possessed and if he started experimenting, he couldn't afford a single slip-up.

It was a tricky thing, magic. He would be better off forging bullets or something like that. Either way, he needed to train more. And seeing as he had plenty of time for training, he shouldn't worry about that too much.

The Spartan pried another rock out of the floor and thought of a way to use it as a weapon. If he found a way to completely overheat it, it could explode with the force of a fragmentation grenade. But heating a stone to the point of exploding took too much meat…too much energy. If there was a way of making something explode without it killing him, he would take it. But at the moment, he was out of ideas.

Aeraleth was sleeping. It had been a very exhausting day for the dragoness and the super-soldier did not want to disturb her. Instead, the Spartan decided to scout the city-mountain of Tronjheim some more. He needed answers…and a pretty large amount of them too. But each and every person he would encounter in the mountain was a potential hostile…and he held no desire to have more interaction than he needed to.

On the other hand, ten days of pure marching with barely any combat wasn't exactly the best way to stay sharp. He had fought a group of human soldiers, urgal soldiers and then almost dwarven soldiers. That wasn't the best way to pass ten days' worth of time.

He made up his mind and traveled down the oversized watchtower, heading out to leave the city-mountain and scout the surrounding area. If he was lucky, he would find his way to Ajihad again and finally receive some answers to his many questions.

But as the soldier exited the tower, he heard footsteps slowly approaching his position. Thinking that someone was about to attack him, he stepped backwards into the shadows that were casted through the dark tunnel and pulled out his sidearm. He had left his two SMG's with Aeraleth, but he hadn't actually thought that anyone would find them there. Could this just be another dwarf, wandering about?

The Spartan watched the tunnel as the footsteps grew louder and louder, until he actually made visual contact with whoever was approaching him.

It was a girl; one with the same, dark skin as Ajihad had. She was wearing a fine, yet simple dress and she carried herself with such a demeanor that indicated that she wasn't a normal citizen. She possessed a certain confidence in herself…an understanding of her own worth, as it were.

In short, she exuded an aura of command. This could only be a daughter of Ajihad's.

He watched the female walk towards the watchtower, before she looked up at the very top of the tower and sighed.

But when she continued to walk to the one secure place that Aeraleth could rest, he took action. He had had plenty of bad experiences with should-be-civilians turning out to be terrorists in his low-profile operations and even a simple-looking civilian could be out to murder him, He wouldn't take any chances.

The Spartan stepped out of the shadows and walked over to the girl, overtaking her pitiful walking speed with ease. His footsteps did not echo in the tunnel and he made no noise as he approached the dark-skinned girl.

"Ehm…hello?" The girl softly spoke and hesitantly looked at the entry of the tower, expecting someone to hear her from the front.

He eyed the dress very carefully, didn't spot any electronics or other things that might be hidden underneath it. She had a small knife hidden near her leg, but that wasn't a threat. If her intention was to hurt him, he would find out soon enough.

He resisted the urge to place the barrel of his gun against her head, as she wouldn't understand that he was threatening her anyway. These people did not know anything about guns.

"Who are you?" He demanded loudly, reading his combat knife in the classic outwards position: blade to the front and held horizontal, arm lightly bended and other hand ready to support should it be necessary.

The girl gasped and turned around, her hand flying to a small dagger that was attached to her leg. Then she spotted him, standing two feet away from her. Her eyes widened and he saw her clenching her fists.

But the girl didn't scream, yelp or fall to the ground. She merely backed away a few steps and then straightened her back, steeling her resolve to do…whatever it was that she wanted to do. "I am Nasuada," she carefully explained, "and I do not mean harm. Are you rider…Spartan?"

So she knew who he was. How had she known where to find him?

"What do you want?" He asked, not lowering his weapon despite her obvious claim of not wanting to harm him. Her eyes sprang from the black knife in his hand to his visor, before she indulged herself in a quick glance at the other parts of his suit.

And then her gaze settled steadily on his visor. "My father, Ajihad, sent me here with a message. Do you wish to hear it?"

No he did not. But he needed to hear it anyways. "What does he want?"

She frowned and then threw her long, black hair over her shoulder. "He wants you to know that you are required to be put through a test, for him to determine your abilities-"

"No. What else?" He interrupted her.

Nasuada closed her mouth, tensed the muscles in her neck and shoulders and then forced herself to calm down again. He had struck a sensitive nerve there. "My father is deserving of more respect than that. You would be wise to remember his position. Furthermore, the twins have filed a complaint on you. They claim you have shown…unnecessary violence, ill feelings and a lacking desire to learn. They were furious, you know?"

He had figured as much when they had threatened him. But this girl wasn't a threat, so he lowered his knife and placed it back in his sheath. "Respect is earned, not given."

"That may be, but even though you are a rider, you are still a guest here. And your story has been…questionable at best."

"All humans are guests here," He retorted, remembering how the Varden had been allowed to use Tronjheim only because the king, Hrothgar, had allowed it. "Why should I care about the twins?"

"But is it true?" Nasuada urged him. She was a very strange girl, either courageous or stupid. Or a little bit of both. "Did you physically harm the twins?"

"They attempted to blackmail, threaten and subsequently attack me," He replied.

Much to his surprise, the girl smiled. It was a brief and small gesture, but it was visible nonetheless. "I see. Their attitude has been problematic to many, but few have had the courage or skill to stand up against them. Can I ask you some questions on behalf of my father, rider Spartan?"

'_Who is this?'_ The sleepy, grumpy voice of Aeraleth spoke in his mind. '_Must I scare her away?'_

'_She is the daughter of Ajihad. And not afraid of me,'_ He replied, feeling a bit puzzled.

'_Ajihad's cub? Curious. Are you sulking because someone does not fear you? Or perhaps happy because a fellow human shows interest in you?'_

'_Neither. She wants to ask questions.'_

'_So let her.' _

Aeraleth wanted him to converse with the woman? Fine, it was her judgment.

And her tail on the line. "What do you want to know?" He gave in, feeling frustrated that he simply couldn't continue on by himself. He could march into the capital, shoot Galbatorix in the head and be done with it in a single day.

Nasuada smiled. "What is the name of your dragon?"

She was starting of carefully to get to the bottom of his origin. Very well; he would play along. "Aeraleth."

"That is a beautiful name."

"I didn't pick it."

"How did you get Aeraleth's egg? I thought that the king only had two remaining eggs, which he had kept under the most extreme security."

He needed to be careful there; he had been told that it was the best for everyone's sake that he didn't reveal anything about himself. "I caught the guardians by surprise."

He had caught Nasuada by surprise too, judging by her expression and next remark. "You found a way into Uru'baen? How did you do that?"

Well, there he had it. Driven in a corner. "Aerial assault."

"The cliff above the city? How did you survive the fall?"

"My armour."

She raised her eyebrows. "I have the feeling you aren't being sincere with me. Am I correct?"

She was a sharp one. She was completely wrong, but still. "Any and all information regarding me and my activities is classified on a need-to-know basis."

"What does that mean?"

"It means," He replied sharply, "none of your business. Anything else?"

In the eyes of the Spartan, the girl's angry frown was quite similar to that of her father. Actually, now that he came to think of it, she resembled her father in more ways than one. Even though she couldn't be much older than him, there was the air of command, clever way of gathering information and the sharpness with which she realized that he wasn't going to tell her the truth.

She had to have been used to the political movements in the Varden.

'_Maine!'_ His dragon called out in his mind, sounding quite angry. '_Act civil against her! Nasuada is right, we are guests here and these people can help us in more ways than one. She knows of the enemies a rider can have here and she can be a good ally.'_

He exhaled softly. Why? Of all times for Aeraleth to have woken up? Why couldn't she have just let him chase this female off? She knew that his social skills were abysmal at best.

Trying to repair the damage that he might have done, he kept the conversation going. "You wouldn't understand my past."

"Try me," She replied and crossed her arms, looking like she was going to be very stubborn.

"I came from the stars."

Again, he caught her by surprise. She raised her eyebrows and her shoulders slumped, as if she had just heard the most ridiculous statement ever.

Which was probably the case. Either way. it was not very stimulating for him to continue speaking to her.

"Do you take us for fools, Spartan? Nothing comes from the stars. Only the gods can touch the air that the dragons cannot." She angrily told him.

Silly girl; gods didn't exist. "I said you wouldn't understand."

That ticked her off again. "Then explain it to me rider. Your statement about the stars is vague at best. Do you mean a metaphorical star? Or a place that your people refer to as such?"

She obviously wanted to understand. But her father had been hostile for a few seconds when he had heard about the whole stars thing. Was there something that Ajihad knew, but his daughter didn't? His political aware, keen-minded teenage daughter

Maine decided that he had to take his information sharing to the next level. "My people live on a dozen worlds, spread across the stars. We have built ships than can travel a long way. My ship took fire above…Uru'baen…and I jumped out."

"You possess ships that can travel across worlds?" Nasuada asked him, the skepticism in her voice slowly making way for awe. "Are you an elf that you can do such things?"

"No."

"But you are bonded to a dragon. Only humans and elves can be bonded to dragons."

"I'm a Spartan."

"But…wasn't that your name?" His remarks only puzzled the dark-skinned girl. Eventually, she gave in and stopped asking him those questions altogether.

"Is there anything we can do to make your stay…more pleasant?" She then asked him with a rather forced tone, probably finishing her business with him.

"No-" He started, but Aeraleth beat him to it.

'_Tell her that I am grateful for the things that the Varden and dwarves have offered us and that I would like to meet up with Saphira again.'_

'_Seriously?'_ He countered. '_You want to talk to the dragon?'_

'_Why? Do you not wish to talk to the other rider? Ah, never mind. It is you, after all.'_

_´What´s that supposed to mean?'_ He asked her.

'_Nothing. Relay my message and I shall join you, yes?'_

"Aeraleth says thanks."

'_And?'_

"And she wants to meet the dragon again."

"Saphira?" Nasuada asked. "I see. I shall bring them the message. Anything for you?"

He could use some practice…that test that Ajihad had set out for him had to be a test of physical prowess alone, as they could not know how fast he could adapt to the use of magic. It would most likely involve him running some obstacle course, performing feats of prowess and speed in the process. But he had to be sure. "What test?" He asked.

"Excuse me?" Nasuada replied.

"You said 'test'. How does Ajihad want to test me?" He clarified.

"Ah. My father wishes to know the extent of your powers too. I cannot allow any details to slip, but rest assured. You won't be in any danger."

She was right on that one; he wasn't in any danger. But Aeraleth didn't possess the durability of his armour and if anything went wrong, she would be the one with swords and arrows sticking out of her.

"I'll think about it," He replied.

"Don't think about it too long, my father wishes to see what you can do before the urgals approach the gate."

So Ajihad had paid heed to his warning? The man knew how to lead, that was certain.

And with that last sentence, Nasuada chose to depart. Which was a good thing to him, as he had no desire to keep on talking. He had reached his quota on interaction with people and had the conversation lasted any longer, he wouldn't have been able to keep civil anymore.

'_Aeraleth?'_

'_Yes little Spartan?'_

'_I won't be taking that test.'_

'_I had suspected as much. How much longer do you wish to defy the wishes of those that seek to aid you?'_

'_Until I have determined whether Ajihad can also be a commanding officer. Not mine, but to his soldiers.'_

'_And in the meantime?' _

'_I want to try something with my knife, a bullet and a rock. I have a few ideas.'_

'_Need I remind you that my wings can not resist arrows, much less your violent weaponry?'_

'_Negative.'_

~0~

**Approximately seven hours later, dragonhold.**

Saphira woke Eragon with a sharp nod of her snout, bruising him with her hard jaw.

"Ouch!" He exclaimed and sat upright. The cave was dark, except for a taint glow emanating from the lantern. Outside in the dragonhold, the dwarves' Isidar Mithrim, the star rose, glittered with a hundred different colours.

And an agitated dwarf was illuminated by that light, standing in the entrance to the cave while wringing his hands.

"You must come Argetlam! Great trouble –Ajihad summons you. There is no time!"

"What's wrong?" Eragon asked.

The dwarf only shook his head, his beard flapping around while he did. "Go, you must! Carkna bragha! Now!"

Eragon belted on his sword, Zar'roc, before reaching for his bow and arrows and climbing onto Saphira's seat.

'_So much for a good night´s sleep,´ _She groused, crouching low to the floor so that he could climb onto her back.

Orik was waiting for them at Tronjheim's gates, with a very grim expression on his face.

"Come, the others are waiting," Orik told him and let him through the city-mountain to Ajihad's study. Along the way. Eragon pelted him with questions about the urgency of the situation, but the dwarf only replied with "I don't know myself, Ajihad will tell more" and left it at that.

The large study-door was opened by a pair of large guards, revealing the interior of the room. Ajihad was standing behind his desk, bleakly inspecting a map. Arya and a man with thick arms were there as well. The other rider was nowhere to be seen –for which Eragon was silently grateful.

Ajihad looked up. "Good, you're here Eragon. Meet Jörmundur, my second in command.

They acknowledged each other, then turned their attention to Ajihad.

"I roused the five of you because we are all in great danger. We must only wait for one more person before I can start to explain."

Eragon tried to meet Arya's gaze, but the elf only held attention for the large door from where the latecomer would arrive. Was it just him, or did Arya look nervous? She had her hand on the pommel of her sword and her muscles were tensed. Was she still as disturbed by the other rider as Saphira was?

After thirty seconds of awkward silence, during which Ajihad and Jörmundur continued to stare at the map, the door opened.

Everyone instantly tensed up even more and reached for weapons, but the only person who was standing in the frame of the door was the armoured rider. He was armed with his black devices like always and he looked ready for trouble.

Not that Eragon had seen him NOT ready for trouble.

Arya frowned, but Ajihad seemed strangely relieved.

"Good, you are here."

"Rather slow!" The second-in-command remarked.

The rider stepped inside of the room and his strange, jeweled helmet turned towards Jörmundur.

"Blame the messenger. What's the situation?"

The sheer professionalism with which the rider handled an apparent crisis was oddly unsettling. Eragon reminded himself that this person could not be much older than he was, but the difference between the two of them was very obvious. He needed to do better.

"We are all in grave danger," Ajihad then said. "About half an hour ago, a dwarf ran out of an abandoned tunnel under Tronjheim. He was bleeding and nearly incoherent, but he had enough sense left to tell the dwarves what was pursuing him: an army of urgals, maybe a day's march from here."

Silence filled the room after that last sentence, but it did not remain like that for long. Jörmundur swore explosively after a few moments had passed and began asking questions at the same time Orik did. Arya remained silent and the rider stepped forward to look at the map, his footsteps putting more strain on the floor than Eragon had expected from a man-sized person. Was that armour so heavy?

Ajihad raised his hands. "Quiet! There is more. The urgals aren't approaching over land, but under it. They're in the tunnels…we're going to be attacked from below."

"You didn't prepare for that?" The other rider asked, which only caused more ruckus in the room. Jörmundur delivered some retort, Arya crossed her arms and Orik asked more questions.

Eragon raised his voice. "Why didn't the dwarves know about this sooner? How did the urgals find the tunnels?"

"We're lucky to know about it this early!" Orik bellowed. Everyone stopped talking to hear him. "There are hundreds of tunnels throughout the Beor Mountains, uninhabited since the day they were mined. The only dwarves who go in them are eccentrics who don't want contact with anyone. We could have just as easily received no warning at all!"

"That's why you appoint scouts to guard your HQ," The rider dryly remarked.

Orik yelled something back while Ajihad pointed to the map, and Eragon move closer. The map depicted the southern half of Alagaesia, but unlike his it showed the entire Beor Mountain range in detail. Ajihad's finger was on the section of the Beor Mountains that touched Surda's eastern border. "This," He said, "is where the dwarf claimed to have come from."

"Orthiad!" Orik exclaimed. At Jörmundur's puzzled look, he explained: "It's an ancient dwelling of ours, that was deserted when Tronjheim was completed. During its time it was the greatest of our, but no one's lived there for centuries.

"And it's old enough for some of the tunnels to have collapsed," Ajihad mused. "That's we surmise it was discovered from the surface. I suspect that Orthiad is now being called Ithrö Zhada. That's where the urgal column that was chasing Eragon and Saphira was supposed to go…and that's where the urgals have been migrating to all year.

"I spotted several hundred of them in a valley a few days back," The armoured rider replied. "And I warned you of them. Why didn't you take measures?"

Eragon wondered why this rider sounded so hostile to the Varden's leader. Saphira was probably speaking to his dragon as Ajihad spoke, so he would figure out something soon enough.

"There are hundreds of tunnels down there, did you expect us to guard every single one of them?" Orik bellowed loudly.

"I do not command the dwarves. We simply did not expect the urgals to approach us from underground, just like Uru'baen did not expect you to approach it from the sky."

The room fell silent again as Ajihad made that puzzling remark. Had this rider infiltrated the capital city from the sky? How? And how had he survived landing? With magic?

"From Ithrö Zhada, the urgals can go anywhere underneath the Beor Mountains. They have the capacity to destroy the Varden and the dwarves."

Jörmundur bent over the map, eyeing it carefully. "Do you know how many urgals there are? Are Galbatorix' troops with them? We can't plan a defense without knowing how large their army is."

Ajihad wasn't very happy. "We're unsure about both of those," he replied. "Yet our survival rests on that last question. If Galbatorix has augmented the urgals' tanks with his own men, we don't stand chance. But if he hasn't –because he wouldn't want his alliance with them to be revealed- its possible we might win."

"Soldiers or not, we'll still win," The rider sharply stated.

"Don't overestimate us, child!" Jörmundur replied angrily.

Ajihad interfered again. "Neither Orrin nor the elves can help us at this late hour. Even so, I sent runners to both of them with the news of our plight. At the very least, they won't be caught by surprise if we fall."

He drew a hand across his coal-black brow. "I've already decided on a course of action. Our only hope is to contain the urgals in thee of the large tunnels and channel them into Farthen Dûr so that they don't swarm inside Tronjheim like locusts."

"That's stupid," The rider then stated, which caused the entire room to fall into silence. Again.

Nobody had expected him to directly insult something decided upon by Ajihad himself.

"You will take those words back! I won't stand idly by while you insult our leader!" Jörmundur replied, stepping closer to the rider as if to threaten him with his appearance alone.

"I agree! Come back with a dozen years of combat experience and then you can comment on the Varden's tactics" Orik shouted.

Eragon spotted Arya's face relaxing a bit. Was she calm because the black rider was being shouted at? Or had she thought the plan to be faulty too?

"Expect superior numbers. Forcing them in the open where they can establish a secure foothold is suicide for your troops. Catch them in a bottle-neck and that advantage will disappear, allowing for a quick and decisive victory."

His words were dazzling to Eragon, yet he knew that there had to be a truth contained in them, as both Ajihad and Jörmundur seemed to overthink his statement.

"I see," Ajihad then stated. "An adaptation among our tactics might be to our advantage. I need you, Eragon, Arya and Spartan, to help the dwarves collapse extraneous tunnels. The job is too big for normal means. Two groups of dwarves are already working on it: one outside Tronjheim and the other beneath it. Eragon, you and Spartan are to work with the group outside. Arya, you'll be with the one underground. Orik will guide you to them."

"Why not collapse all the tunnels instead of leaving the large ones untouched?" Eragon asked.

"Because," Orik said, "that would force the urgals to clear away the rubble and they might decide to go in a direction we don't want them , if we cut ourselves off, they could attack other dwarf cities –which we wouldn't be able to assist in time."

"There's also another reason," Ajihad added. "Hrothgar warned me that Tronjheim sits on such a dense network of tunnels that if too many are weakened, sections of the city will sink into the ground under their own weight. We can't risk that."

"So there won't be any fighting inside Tronjheim? You said the urgals would be channeled outside the city, into Farthen Dûr." Jörmundur stated.

Ajihad was quick to respond. "That's right. We can't defend Tronjheim's entire perimeter –it's too big for our forces. We're going to seal all the passageways and gates leading into it. That will force the urgals out onto the flats surrounding Tronjheim, where there's plenty of maneuvering room for our armies. Since the urgals have access to the tunnels, we cannot risk an extended battle. As long as they are here, we will be in constant danger of them quarrying up through Tronjheim's floor. If that happens, we'll be trapped. Attacked from both the outside and the inside. We have to prevent the urgals from taking Tronjheim. If they take it, it's doubtful we will have the strength to roust them."

Jörmundur was silent for a few seconds, before grudgingly adding: "The rider is right. If we can prevent the urgals from getting out of the tunnels, they will be easier to contain. But what of our families? I won't see my wife and son murdered by urgals."

The lines deepened on Ajihad's face. "All the women and children are being evacuated into the surrounding valleys. If we are defeated, they have guides who will take them to Surda. That's all I can do, under the circumstances."

The second-in-command struggled to contain his surprise. "Sir, is Nasuada going too?"

"She is not pleased, but yes." All eyes –and gemlike masks- were focused on Ajihad as he squared his shoulders and announced, "The urgals will arrive in a matter of hours. We know their numbers must be great, but we must hold Farthen Dûr. Failure will mean the dwarves' downfall, death to the Varden and eventual defeat for Surda and the elves. This is one battle we cannot lose. Now go and complete your tasks. Jörmundur! Ready the men to fight."

Most of them then left the study and scattered: Jörmundur to the barracks, Orik and Arya to the stairs leading underground and Eragon and Saphira heading down one of Tronjheim's main halls. But the rider named 'Spartan' stayed behind and walked up to Ajihad, pointing at the map and saying something so soft that Eragon could not hear it.

'_Come little one, we have work to do,'_ Saphira told him and he tore his gaze off of the armoured figure.

He had killed urgals before, but the thought of the coming battle filled his stomach with dread. He knew that the fight would be important, but on such a large-scaled battlefield anything could happen. It would be a complete war…and even though the urgals were his enemies, he still didn't know if he could stomach the slaughter that was likely to come.

~0~

**Four hours later, on the fields outside Farthen Dûr.**

For several hours straight, the Spartan had used his newly acquired magical abilities to collapse all the entries into the city-mountain of Tronjheim. He had found that it was possible for Aeraleth to grant him additional energy when needed, which would be very handy in the coming fight. In having learned the new magical word 'Thrysta', which meant push, the two of them had collapsed over a dozen tunnels together in the span of two hours, after which the Spartan had moved on to the three major tunnels where the urgals would be coming from.

But now, all that remained was waiting for the battle to commence. Which was a grievous abuse of time, as he could easily dart into the tunnels to perform hit-and-run tactics on the enemy armies.

'_This will be our second fight against the urgals,'_ Aeraleth told him as she rested beside him. '_I long to tear my foes apart with my teeth and talons, but I am also worried.'_

'_For what?'_ He asked. The mass evacuation of noncombatants was streaming out of Tronjheim, with a small group of warriors sent to escort them/ But most of the activity was at the base of the city-mountain, where the army of the Varden was being divided into three battalions. Most of the men were already waiting for the signal to be given, armed with simple plating and spears and swords. Eragon and his dragon were sitting between the second an first battalion, a small group of dwarves was heading out to meet them.

'_For you. The last time you faced those grey-skinned walkers, you nearly severed the bond between us just to block me out. And then the only thing that was left was an aggression rivalled only by the wildest of dragons.'_

The Spartan nodded, remembering the battle where he had lost control over himself. His aggressive tendencies were slowly becoming obvious and there was pretty much nothing he could do to block them out. Emotions, pain and pain alike could be banished from his mind without a second thought. But that…animalistic need to kill would take control over him.

He needed to work harder. He couldn't allow himself to slip and harm allies during the fight. '_I'll make sure that there won't be anyone friendly around.'_

Aeraleth hummed with pleasure as she watched a few dwarves approach her as well, holding a large plate of dried meat. '_I will make sure that I am around you.'_

He watched as the dwarves near Eragon revealed a large bundle of yellow-orange armour to the boy. The armour was too large and complicated to be for a human, so it had to be meant for the dragon.

'_Have you talked to Eragon yet?'_ Aeraleth asked him.

'_Negative.'_ Maine had been working near the kid the whole time, but he had felt zero need to initiate contact with him. He had watched Aeraleth and the blue dragon –Saphira- work together on several occasions, but such things were below him.

Or well above him. Whatever.

After a few minutes, during which Eragon and Saphira were getting armoured and the men had readied themselves, the three divisions of soldier started to march.

Closing in on one of the collapsed tunnels, the Spartan noticed that the entrance had been decorated with lanterns, trenches and sharpened stakes. The rubble inside of the tunnel had been positioned that it would be easy for soldiers to climb out, for some reason.

He frowned when he saw the sloppy work. There were a dozen ways that could be employed to kill the urgals; collapsing the tunnels on top the humanoids, for example.

While he and Aeraleth watched the men stream towards the battlefield, he spotted a man and a horse approaching Eragon while Ajihad lagged behind. The dark-skinned man wore a breastplate and a pale sword, but not much more.

'_If Ajihad is going to fight on the frontlines, I will personally drag him away,'_ He told Aeraleth.

'_Why? Have your grown attached to him?'_

'_If he dies, the army will be thrown in disarray. Commanders don't fight at the front.'_

'_What does that matter? He is a warrior and he should be fighting amongst his men.'_

'_Negative,' _He replied and started to explain. '_The commanding officer is the one who leads the troops Soldiers follow orders, he issues them. Without him to oversee the battle, morale will fall and soldiers will desert.'_

'_To stay behind and watch is the coward's way!'_

'_Aeraleth,'_ He sternly said, '_a victory is a victory. A leader leads, but if he dies nobody can replace him. His survival is critical.'_

'_I don't think he would appreciate that.'_

'_I don't care.'_

The sun was slowly rising again and light was filling the giant mountain, illuminating Tronjheim and visibly increasing the morale of the soldiers around him.

Inexperienced rooks, all of them.

Ajihad gestured for him to join him near Eragon and he grudgingly moved towards the group. While Eragon moved over to Arya, who was sitting ten meters away from him and Orik, Saphira stayed behind and eyed Aeraleth.

"Spartan," Ajihad greeted him. "I see that you are not yet armed. Which weapon do you prefer?"

Curious. Maine could have sworn that he had been standing with his rifle in his arms for over thirty minutes at that point. "My guns."

The leader of the Varden eyed him carefully and decided to let the issue rest. "I don't know how to command you-"

"Don't," He told the man. That was one misconception he could not allow; nobody was his superior except for the late captain Wren. "I don't take orders from you."

'_Watch it,'_ Aeraleth carefully told him.

Ajihad frowned and crossed his arms –no easy thing to do with his chestplate. "So you think yourself experienced enough to fight an entire battle without anyone telling you what to do and who to target? Have you forgotten your age and standing, rider?"

"I know what to do."

Ajihad continued to stare at him, but yielded before long. "This shade you have talked about…she will be accompanying Durza. Do you think yourself strong enough to face both of them at the same time? Magic, mind and body?"

"Yes."

Then the man nodded, perhaps understanding. "Very well. You have carried yourself with a skilled warrior's stride ever since I have laid eyes on you. I do not know how skilled you are, but I know that you hold more experience than most of the soldiers here. Keep a close eye on Eragon…" He lowered his voice, "…and on Arya. We can't lose either of them. She is the ambassador to the elves and he is, no insult meant, the hope of our people. I don't possess your loyalty or trust, but I do his. As such, I entrust our future to him and not to you. But I entrust _him_ to you."

He nodded, respecting Ajihad for his insight in his situation. "Copy that."

"Good luck." And with that, the Varden's leader left.

'_Did you hear that?'_ He asked Aeraleth, but the black dragon was already accompanying Saphira back to Eragon and Arya.

Great. Now he had to join her, pick her up and leave again. All while under the constant sight of the elf. Her appearance was unsettling enough, but there was a certain alien quality about her.

He disliked that.

The Spartan marched towards the part of the encampment where the representatives of the four different species were standing and underwent at least a dozen scenarios in his mind while he did so.

The blue dragon growled threateningly when he approached and both Eragon and Orik quickly spun around, realizing that he was advancing towards them.

And Arya's gaze never left him. The girl probably hated him.

"Spartan," The dwarf tried to be friendly to him, but his eyes were very distrusting towards him. "We only had one suit of dragon armour, I am afraid. Your dragon will have to go without."

"She won't need it," He replied and stopped near the circle of racial members, measuring the exact distance he wanted to keep from them at all costs.

"You think yourself capable enough to guard her against an army of urgals?" Arya asked. It seemed like her only emotions were anger, controlled anger and spite.

But he shouldn't be the one to judge her on that.

"Yes," He replied, causing the frown on the elf's face to grow even larger. Her voice still sounded weird to him. She was as alien to him as he was most likely to be to her.

'_Now Maine, do not be overconfident of yourself. It has been the demise of many a great hunter in the past,'_ Aeraleth saw fit to lecture him.

Eragon turned towards Arya and softly continued their civilian conversation. "It's too dangerous."

Arya was not amused by that remark. "Do not pamper me, human-"

-She looked more like a human than many an enemy he had fought-

"-elves train both their men and women to fight. I am not one of your helpless females to run away whenever there is danger."

She should see Helia-009.

"I was given the task of protecting Saphira's egg…which I failed. My breaol is dishonored would be further shamed if I did not guard you and Saphira on this field."

Wasn't that his responsibility? And what was a breaol?

Arya continued her little speech. "You forget that I am stronger with magic than any here, including you and him. If the shade comes, who can defeat him but me? And who else has the right?"

The Spartan eyed the elf closely. Her eyes were serious, yet betrayed a little bit too hard that she was trying to withhold her emotions. Her stoic demeanor was a near-perfect mirror of his, yet less refined and less thorough. She tried so hard to block something out, but she failed to filter that out.

"Shades," He corrected her.

"There are more of those things?" Eragon exclaimed, hearing him use the plural version.

Arya wasn't too happy about his remark herself. "You encountered one too?

Saphira edged away from their group and Aeraleth separated too; both dragons seemed to have other things to worry about than humans and elves bickering. Eragon uneasily retreated to his own dragon, soon to be joined by Orik.

And that left him alone with the elf. Perhaps they could feel the tension in the air? Either way, the following conversation would not be a pleasant one.

"A female," He replied. "Twice."

She looked at him with a blank, emotionless expression and he could not help but shake the feeling that she was being extremely skeptical. "You encountered the same shade twice? How did you survive?"

"First time I snapped her neck in three places. Second time I pulverized her internal organs, tore out a chuck of her spine and shot her in her head."

She lowered her head slightly and averted her gaze. It indicated that she was solemn, but the fact that she was slowly clenching her hands gave away that she was angry. "Shades are not easy to slay, or even hurt. If you are fortunate, you will only insult someone with such delusory tales…but if you are unfortunate, a shade might hunt you down. Do not presume to talk about them like that."

What was wrong with her? "Let them. I've faced worse."

"Your arrogance is matched only by your lack of manners," She bitterly stated.

He looked her straight in her eyes and tried to come up with an explanation for her attitude. There was none. Even though he knew that he shouldn't have to justify anything to her, he still felt like he needed to. "I don't tell tales."

With that, he walked away from the annoying elf. He had better things to do than listen to her whining.

Like waiting a few hours for the urgals to attack. The defenders were sloppy and undisciplined; they were wrapped up in their own thoughts and sank in a brooding silence as the hours passed by. Eventually, the crater grew dark again as the sun left its highest point in the sky.

'_So much for a few hours,'_ The Spartan thought and moved to the nearest entrance of the tunnel. Ajihad, Jörmundur and the dwarven king were all responsible for leading their division and driving the urgals out of the tunnel, but so far they weren't doing anything worthwhile. They had barricaded the entrances to the tunnels with rudimentary wooden defenses and they had actually sat up cauldrons of boiling pitch above the tunnels.

He couldn't have that. Now that everyone was resting in the long lull before battle, they were at their weakest. And the pitch would only hinder him for his plans, so he had to do something about that too.

While dwarves were grinding their axes, men were inspecting their chain-mail armours and Eragon was spying on Arya, the Spartan moved to the tunnel. Occasionally, messengers would run through the encampment and shake the soldiers out of their stupor, but it was always some sort of false alarm.

Every minute they were sitting there like dead bodies was a minute that they could be reinforcing their perimeter, scout the area or gain advantages. These men were woefully unprepared for a fight.

He grabbed the cauldrons of boiling pitch and removed them from their suspended position above the tunnel, positioning them so that no man could easily knock them over.

'_What are you doing?'_ Aeraleth asked him from her position next to Saphira. The two dragons seemed to be very glad that they had each other, but their bonding only annoyed him.

And he didn't know why. '_Prepping.'_

'_For what? The tiny men all worked so hard to prepare themselves. Why are you removing their work?'_

'_Their work stops me from moving.'_

'_Can't you ask them-'_

'_-no.'_

'_I could have foreseen that. Did you know that Saphira does not like you?'_

'_Yes.'_

'_She states that you smell of death and destruction. I must have been acclimatized to a high degree before, but I have only noticed that now. Why do you think that is?'_

'_Remember the war against the Covenant?'_

'_Yes?'_

'_It was a big war.'_

While he worked at altering the entry to the tunnel, he heard Orik the dwarf say something about going to sleep, 'for the night was still long'.

'_Aeraleth,'_ He snapped.

'_What is it little soldier?'_

'_The kid's going to break his body sleeping in his armour. Tell your new friend to warn him.'_

Aeraleth snorted in amusement and then withdrew her consciousness from his mind, leaving him alone to continue working.'

He positioned the rubble so that one well-placed kick would cause it to collapse completely, preventing anyone from exiting for a while. He had already placed the boiling pitch so that he could dose the tunnel with the black stuff when everybody was secure, which only left the wooden stakes. His plan involved having the troops pour into the tunnel with their pikes so that the urgals would be forced to fight in a narrow line, but the three leaders hadn't felt much for that.

No matter. He didn't care for the lives of these soldiers and he had his own tactic.

While Eragon carefully removed a part of his armour before going to sleep, he spotted Arya still sitting on her rock, watching over the boy and his dragon.

It was strange that she didn't need to sleep either. He knew that _he_ could function after four days without sleep, but the elven lady looked as sharp and ready as the moment they had started waiting. An innate racial trait?

After another hour or three, Orik woke Eragon up and then helped him get suited up again.

"It has begun," Arya said with a sorrowful expression.

The troops were finally standing at the ready; their weapons were drawn and they were all tensed up with anticipation. Orik swung his axe around to test his reach, Arya nocked an arrow and Eragon grabbed his sword.

Maine ejected the magazine of his assault rifle, inspected the first round and then inserted the mag back into his gun. A few soldiers nervously eyed him as he prepared his rifle and he felt Aeraleth's curiosity.

'_You never told me what those things are,'_ She asked him. '_You use no pointy sticks like the rest of the humans. What can your weapons do?'_

'_It's an air-cooled, gas-operated, magazine-fed rifle designed for automatic fire of a 7.62x51 millimeter Armour Piercing, Full Metal Jacket round.'_

In the silence that followed his explanation, he started to wonder why his dragon was being so silent

Her answer presented itself rather quickly. '_I do not follow you.'_

'_It's my boomstick,'_ He then explained to the dragon and quickly proceeded to inspect his SMG's while the boy named 'Murtagh' started to explain things to Eragon.

"A scout ran out of the tunnel a few minutes ago. The urgals are coming."

They were silent for a while, but the Spartan did no rely on the senses of the soldiers stationed at the front. His motion tracker was tuned to fifty meters, a hundred meters or a hundred-and-fifty meters.

And he was seeing red dots at extreme range. A lot of dots. His helmet picked up loud growls and guttural speeches that could only belong to the urgals and he quickly modified his rifle for long-range encounters.

He looked over his shoulder and made brief eye-contact with Arya, Eragon and Orik. To Aeraleth, he said: '_Stick close to Saphira and aim for the heads. Don't take risks and don't flatten your allies.'_

'_Little Spartan, what are you going to do?' _She replied.

He did not reply further and instead, much to the despair and confusion of the soldiers around him, jumped over the wooden stakes and into the tunnel. He heard people crying out and then he heard Orik telling Eragon that he couldn't be saved.

It almost sounded like the kid wanted to retrieve him. Funny. Didn't they think he had a reason for jump into the entrance to the tunnel like that? The tunnel was approximately seven meters wide and four meters high.

He sank through his knees, rolled over his shoulders to dissipate the momentum and then snapped his rifle up. The tunnel was approximately seven meters wide and four meters high, which meant that he had very clear lines of fire.

He could see the urgals perfectly; grey-skinned and horned abominations, ready to slaughter all the humans they could find. Enemies to humanity and his prey. A distance of a hundred-and-fifty meters was too close for his liking, but it was still enough. He had six clips for his Assault Rifle, of which he wanted to use three. And then four clips for his SMG's and two clips for his pistol.

And then he would use his new tricks.

The Spartan aimed down the sights of his rifle, lined up with the first head and pulled the trigger. The urgals tight formation and bottle-necked numbers meant that each and every round meant at least four casualties and that was acceptable to him.

He squeezed the trigger and started his bloody work. As a Secret-Spartan, he was a crack shot. Normal soldiers and combatants received training and conditioning that made them fire at a target's center of mass. That was the highest chance of actually hitting someone without wasting ammo and usually, such a shot was also lethal.

Not with the Secret-Spartans. They had all received extensive training to aim at the head of their targets, as that was the only way to make sure something was dead.

These urgals were severely outmatched. He had distance, ammo and all the space in the world to pick them off one at a time. Every time he pulled the trigger, an explosive discharge sent a metal projectile tearing through at least two skulls in quick succession. Each shot meant at least two bodies falling to the ground, making it more difficult for the other humanoids to advance.

Maine continued to fire off single shots, using the moments between his calm heart beating to single out a target and take him out. He had time, but not too much. As such, he would reduce his firing speed to one headshot per second, occasionally waiting to score a triple kill with a single bullet and occasionally speeding up to take out five adjacent enemies in two seconds.

'_Maine!'_ Aeraleth cried out in his head, nearly throwing his next shot off. He readjusted and shot a Kull in the face, before answering the call.

'_What?'_ He asked her.

'_Whatever are you doing in there? The humans are fearing the worst.'_

'_And you?'_ He asked as he felled another two urgals with one shot. He didn't keep track of his kills, but he did keep track of his ammo-counter, which indicated that he only had twenty shots left.

'_I know better,'_ She growled. '_But your many noises unnerve a few people and the battle has already been joined at the other two tunnels!'_

'_Join Eragon and Saphira.'_

'_I cannot leave you trapped down there with those beasts!'_

'_You don't understand,'_ He replied as he started marching forwards. The urgals were confused and shocked by his ambush and had stopped moving, allowing him to quickly unload his twenty remaining bullets into their skulls. Then he ejected the spent magazine, strapped it to his suit as he would need to refill it later and slammed a fresh mag into the receiver. The counter reset and read sixty again. '_I'm not trapped with them.'_ He reduced the distance between him and the beasts to fifty meters and hosed their ranks again. He had made at least a hundred kills with his careful marksmanship. '_They are trapped here with me.'_

'_If you get wounded,'_ she hissed at him, '_I will pry you out of your armour and leave you to be nurtured by elves!'_

'_There is only one,' _He replied and started to step left and right as a new front of urgals started to shoot arrows at him. '_And she would be too disgusted to touch me.'_

'_And why would that be? With one as beautiful as me as your partner, how can you be unsightly?' _

'_You will have to be pretty for the both of us,' _He replied as he unloaded his second magazine into the urgal ranks. Their bodies fell to the ground in great numbers, but his munition was finite.

And their numbers didn't look like they were burdened by the same laws, as they simply kept coming and coming. The tidal waves of flesh were as relentless and numerous as the grunts were in their approach and this time, he was unaided by explosives, air support and mines. He was completely dependent on his own weaponry as he couldn't steal a damn thing from the enemy and even with the advantage of guns, the urgals kept on coming. They seemed unsure of what to do when faced with a single attacker who killed more than two-hundred of them on his own, but that confusion would not last long.

Every single humanoid he shot directly died from a headshot and he did not waste a single bullet. On the contrary; many bullets exited the back of the heads of their first targets and kept on going, claiming second or third targets. But the enemy was coming too close. Their ranks had almost reached the first spent casings on the floor and if he didn't use magic soon, the opportunity would be wasted.

The super-soldier heard war-cries and screaming as the Varden's army crashed into the bulk of the urgal warriors and felt a tang of annoyance that they hadn't taken a better tactic. When you were outnumbered, you did not meet your foe in the middle of an open battlefield. That was a very easy way to lose the fight.

When his rifle clicked empty, he ejected the empty magazine and tucked it away without looking. Never breaking eye-contact with the advancing mass of urgals, he slipped a new magazine into the rifle and it clicked home.

'_Maine, the Varden is fighting the grey beasts, but the soldiers in front of your tunnel grow restless. Soon they will disperse! Jörmundur is furious with you.'_

'_What's your status?'_

'_Furious. And not only with you. Come out of there soon and we can finally fight side-by-side!'_

'_Copy that.'_

Then the Spartan tapped into the reserves of magical energy lying in the back of his mind and muttered: "Reisa."

More than a hundred spent casings floated in the air without causing the soldier any discomfort. The system was right; magic didn't take more energy than a normal motion would take. These empty rounds weighed too little to be bothered by them and even though he had just lifted a hundred-and-twenty at the same time, he didn't feel any different.

"Thrysta," He then called and sent ten of the rounds sped towards the urgal ranks, moving at speeds almost equal to their rifle-fired counterparts. The urgals had finally realized that their slow advance was suicide and they had increased their speed to a full-on charge, but that only made their casualties that much more intense.

The rounds impacted on their heads, stopping many of them dead in their tracks. The projectiles did not even need to tear through their brain to kill them; even when they didn't penetrate their skulls, they caused enough blunt force trauma to kill.

All but the strongest Kull survived the first barrage and still the Spartan felt nothing. So he increased the odds.

Backpedaling as he did, the soldier launched another thirty rounds towards the advancing urgals. When that didn't cause any strain, he launched another fifty.

By that point, more than fifty urgals alone had died from his 'recycling' and he started to feel a bit different. He could feel the energy sipping away, but the amount was too insignificant to worry about and even if it did, he would continue.

Slowly but steadily, he backed out of the tunnel while pelting the enemy's ranks with magically launched bullets. More and more urgals fell to his barrage, but more would come to take their place. They were outnumbering him by far.

He reached the end of the tunnel and then ran out of bullets to reuse. He had killed more than three-hundred of the beasts in his opening salvo, but now they were going to flood out of the tunnel.

But he was ready for that.

There wasn't a single soldier waiting for him near the exit; all of Jörmundur's division had moved to reinforce either Ajihad or Hrothgar.

And that was good.

'_Spartan!'_ Aeraleth called out. '_Were you victorious?'_

'_No,' _He replied as he backed out of the tunnel and leaped in-between the two cauldrons of still-boiling pitch. '_Why?'_

He looked around and saw that there were two separate fights going on in Farthen Dûr: one by each open tunnel that was not Spartan-occupied. The urgals were severely disadvantaged the dispersal of their forces and inability to make use of their superior numbers, But even so, the Varden and the dwarves were unable to keep them at bay. Slowly but steadily, the horned humanoids were gaining ground. He couldn't see much from his higher position on top of the tunnel, but he did see that his tunnel wasn't the only one with a severely outnumbering force. Both Ajihad and the dwarven king were facing a completely superior foe in numbers and they could not hold them back for long.

'_You were in there for a long time for this fight's standards. You have delayed the grey beasts' arrival by at least a few minutes. It allowed Jörmundur to get his troops to better use. But they will not be back at this tunnel for a while. Get out of there!'_

So he had stopped the tidal waves of urgals all on his own? That was a good thing.

The Spartan waited until the enemy was directly below him and then took his turn pelting them with small, sharp slivers of rock. It was enough to cause the urgals to bundle up together and when they looked up to spot him, but used magic to remove that one stone that would cause the rubble co collapse, trapping the horned hostiles for a while.

And when they were screaming for his blood, he kicked the cauldrons of pitch over and shot the black liquid with his pistol.

He had smelled the odour of burning flesh for a while, but he had thought it to be the natural smell of the urgals and not their…well, natural burning smell. The Varden had lit the other cauldrons of pitch to set the creatures alight.

The Spartan was not a big fan of that tactic. Pitch was valuable and could be used for much better things.

While the urgals were screaming and burning, he leaped off of the tunnel and landed on the solid ground of Farthen Dûr.

'_Aeraleth!´_ He called out with mind, ´_Rendezvous on my position!´_

_´I hear you, little soldier!´ _She replied and he spotted her shadowy bulk flying overhead. In the darkness of the hollow mountain and the chaos of the fight, she was as stealthy as an Elite with active camo. Eragon and Saphira were working with the dwarves to safeguard their king, but they were slowly making their way towards his tunnel. ´_I bring help.´_

_´I don´t need help,´_ He replied as he faced the mouth of the dark tunnel, where the many marching bodies were slowly trampling the burning pitch. He might need more ammo though.

´_Maine, the other tunnels contain more than a thousand horned beasts each. You cannot best all of them!´_

_´Watch me.´ _He replied and decided on spending his third and last clip for the fight. The many hundreds of urgals were forcing themselves through the tunnel, flattening their own soldiers against the rubble and sharpened stakes until their sheer momentum carrier them through.

And he shot each and every one of them in the head as they rose from the tunnel. At one point, he decided that the Kull were the biggest threat on the battlefield and he closed the distance between himself and the entry of the tunnel, where he proceeded to shoot only Kull in the face while he punched, kicked and otherwise killed the normal urgals with hand-to-hand combat. They were not sturdy and strong enough to withstand his blows and he killed most of them with a single hit. But they were seriously just too numerous and soon, his third clip was spent too. He had lost track of his kills and he understood that if he faltered now, the area would get flooded and the surrounding armies would be flanked.

If his companion was right, there would be thousands of urgals ready to vanquish them. And slowly, the amount that trickled out of the entrance of the tunnel seemed to make good on that prediction. For every urgal he beat to death or stabbed in the face, five would surface. He couldn't oversee the entrance all on his own and slowly, he got surrounded by the urgals.

He looked up and then decided to focus primarily on the ones leaving the tunnel, moving only to dodge axes and swords that came down crashing towards him. Eventually, he had seven Kull and ten urgals massing together to press the attack on him. But those idiots were bunched up.

Then, Aeraleth roared violently and swept down from above, like a great black shadow, crushing the two dozen horned humanoids that were planning on 'overwhelming' him. Her sheer speed and mass was enough to crush their bodies and because they were focused on him, they hadn't any weapons trained at her.

She skidded to a halt just as he rolled to his side, nearly threatening to hit him as well.

'_You have been busy,'_ she stated.

'_Not enough,´_ He replied. Then he turned around and saw the elf approaching his position, her thin sword in her hand and blood coating its blade. Eragon and Saphira quickly joined them too and the sudden appeatance of two dragons was enough to scare the ever-increasing mass of urgals in a momentary halt.

"Spartan," She greeted him.

"Heavens, you made a lot of noise!" Eragon exclaimed. "Did you use magic to do that?"

The kid must be referring to his weapon. "Not at first," He replied and then placed his now-empty assault rifle away.

Arya eyed his weapons carefully and then looked at him. "Your weapons are not from Alagaesia, are they?"

Clever girl. "No."

"How do they work?"

"Like a crossbow. They launch metal projectiles."

"Can you not kill more of them with those weapons?" Eragon asked, looking desperate, exhausted and scared. "It would make our victory easier to reach."

"Nearly out of ammo," He replied and then pulled out his sidearm. "I don't have enough."

And then the urgals recovered from their stupor and pressed the assault with more ferocity and speed than ever before, breaking out of the tunnel and into the battlefield.

'_I think,'_ Aeraleth told him, '_That we might be outdone in numbers.'_

'_You think?'_ He replied and stepped back, watching the hundreds of urgals approaching them not only from the front, but also from the sides.

~0~

"_How would your death prove anything? It would be a waste."_

"_Durza, the grey rider is poisoned. The most potent drug my lady could find runs through his veins now. I know what I am doing."_

"_As soon as I have found the boy, I will come to assist you."_

"_That is…unnecessary, Durza. But welcome nonetheless."_

_~0~_


	8. A poisoned mind pt 2

_I had heard from a friend that the cut-off at the last chapter took him out of the action. Anyone else felt the same way?_

_Reviews! 99 one them! Oh cruel fate, if only I had reached the 100 before this chapter._

_Oh well._

_**Guest: **__that would be funny indeed. However, I have something else planned. For both of them._

_**Jcraft596: **__Oh, he could surely perform so much more. The problem lies probably with my own imagination…which, as we all know, is still above average. _

_Also, I just happen to know the term citrusy. I have planned something else, I am afraid. Still, this story might even get to Lemon. It is rated M for a reason._

_**The Blue Tigrex: **__Alright, is that positive or negative?_

_Also, only the meanest flames can offend me, so don't worry. I admit, I am reaching a point where everything I have done for school this year will come together; 13__June is my final deadline for…everything. I cannot fail one thing at this point. However, writing fanfiction is equal to taking a break for me. It is a chance to escape in my own fantasy and share my work with the world; to receive feedback and bolster my resolve to do better with both. If you could point out where I am slipping, I can work at that. But until then, I would rather continue writing…albeit more carefully, of course. _

_**Themythick: **__I know right? That would suck._

_**Exillion: **__thanks for pointing that out. _

_**Siphon 117: **__answer to your question: the UNSC has made some major progress in the area of materials. But perhaps a bigger weapon lies in wait for him? _

_Also, elves: spoilers :p_

_**AK74FU2: **__You are probably right with the physical threshold for pain. Spartans can banish all forms of physical discomfort, after all._

_**Sierra110: **__Piss-poor odds for the little guys._

_**The Lone Swordswolf: **__I can almost see that happening :) _

_**ILikdabubbles: **__What's with everyone wanting Raia x Maine? Did I accidentally foreshadow something?_

_The reference…ehm…mister Gahrzvog or whathisname referring to Arya?_

_**Water Guardian 26: **__you know me. Is there coincidence in my stories? :P_

_**Dracologistmaster: **__I hope that I will surprise you pleasantly._

_**Cthulujr: **__Oh me too, I am waiting eagerly to be able to write that!_

_**Guest(2) **__well, Mass Effect amongst others. The rest –either spoilers, or I haven't made my mind up yet :3_

_**Anon: **__Ehm…I made a reference? :/ didn't see it, sorry. But go ahead and make a rap if you want to!_

_**FinlandNative: **__wow, thanks. I kind of like being the best of something (Evil laugh) and believe me, I seriously cannot wait for Maine to meet the elves myself. It will be…tensed, as you say._

_~0~_

"_But that is not even considering the most important problem of this augmentation; one that I have encountered years back without realizing it. It was easily seven years ago, after a major battle that resulted in the loss of yet another colony. A few scientists from an unknown team were busy injecting a Secret-Spartan with some injection…and when I looked at the procedure through an open door, an ODST promptly closed it. I hurried along, but I never truly forgot about it. The Spartans require a regular dose of anti-drugs to counter the other drugs and chemicals in their system."_

- Mental Health Specialist Sunfield, logbook entry 4, 24th of August 2552- continuation.

~0~

The armies led by Ajihad, Jörmundur and Hrothgar had most likely failed in some way, as there were urgals approaching the Spartan and his allies from all possible directions. Small groups, moderate groups and even a large bulk of a hundred and more warriors were all converging on their position, where they stood on their own without reinforcements.

Eragon was wounded, exhausted and probably low on morale and the blue Saphira was battered and bloodied. Arya didn't seem to have any trouble, but the soldier couldn't afford to lose her either. He was stuck protecting them in the middle of a warzone and about to be overwhelmed. Not exactly ideal odds.

'_Aeraleth?' _He asked as he raised his pistol. Everywhere he looked, were urgals. Dozens upon dozens of them were pouring out of the tunnel, moving through the ranks of the Varden's engaged warriors or otherwise entering the fray. Plenty of targets and they were all focusing on them…which was probably a positive thing, as they would have otherwise charged at the flanks of the Varden's armies and inflected grievous casualties. '_See target primary anywhere?'_

'_Who?'_ His black dragon asked him as she dashed towards a small clutch of urgals. They were wearing swords and spears, but she battered their weapons aside with a horizontal swipe of her claw, during which the beasts were forced to let go of their weapons. Then Aeraleth used her other claw to bisect two of them, before chomping down and decapitating another one with her jaws.

He felt vaguely proud of his dragon. She towered above the largest of Kull and every movement she made spelled death for her prey. Even though the dragon Saphira was still larger than she was, the black reptile had no difficulty fending her numerous foes off like her blue counterpart. Maybe it was because he had been trying to train her, or because of their bond.

She was twice as high as he was and her jaws were lined with teeth that were as large as his entire helmet was. Her head alone was large enough to fit Orik in and her wings could easily range sixty feet when they were fully unfolded. As such, her talons alone could disembowel even the most heavily armoured foes.

'_The shade,'_ He added as he made his way towards the dragon. He was only willing to spent two clips worth of pistil ammo before stuffing the sidearm away again and those twenty-four kills had to count. He had to watch over Eragon, Saphira and Arya alike. Murtagh and Orik had disappeared somewhere in the fight and he couldn't even see Ajihad.

'_Which one? Ours or theirs?' _Aeraleth replied as she snapped at another Kull, robbing it of one of its arms.

'_The dangerous one,'_ He stated as he came to her aid. She was nearly getting blindsided by a band of urgals, but he wouldn't allow that to happen.

The Spartan dashed towards the group, caught them in the back and forced his hand into a crude shovel-like form. Then he chopped the nearest urgal on its neck with the side of his hand, bursting the veins and cracking the bone with the attack.

He dispatched of two more urgals like that and then jumped at the back of a Kull, using both of his hands to wrench its head sideways and breaking its neck. Before the corpse could collapse to the ground under his weight, he leaped off again and landed with his feet on top of the neck of another horned abomination. His weight was enough to completely crush its upper spine.

With the still-alive urgal underneath him, he lifted his boot and stomped down hard, bringing half a ton of armour and Spartan down on its feeble skull.

'_Watch your flank,'_ He berated the dragon for not paying more attention to her surroundings. Then he looked at the charging group of hundred urgals and decided that enough was enough. He placed his sidearm back and pulled out his combat knife.

'_Aeraleth?'_ he said again.

'_Yes little one,'_ the dragon replied as she stepped closer to him, perhaps realizing what he was going to do. She did not sound worried, but more eager.

'_Watch me.´_ and with that, he charged off towards the enemy ranks. He heard Eragon calling out for him to stay where he was and then he heard Arya calling him ´foolish´, but he ignored the both of them. He was created with a single purpose in mind; offense.

The soldier closed in on the major bulk of the enemy's army, time distorting and rippling before his mind as he his mind started to process the surrounding signals even faster than it was already doing.

He clashed with the first urgal, jammed his knife into its skull and immediately twisted around it, tearing his knife out and also yanking the sword out of its grip. Using that sword, he decapitated two other urgals, parried a few jabs and then killed another three of them with diagonal cuts. After that he took a deep breath and felt a white-hot sensation rush to his stomach, his head suddenly burning with heat.

The Spartan then used the sword to stab four Kull in the heart, standing at the optimal height to kill them with the steel weapon. With his combat knife he parried and blocked several jabs, swings and thrusts that were aimed at him. Even though he was standing in the middle of their army, they would not touch him. He jumped at another Kull, sliced its head off with the sword and then jumped off, landing on top of another urgal and crushing its head with both of his boots.

He twirled the sword around, balanced the hilt against the palm of his hand and then launched it at a large Kull that was making his way through the group to meet him.

The sword impacted dead-center on its chest and split its chest-cavity apart.

The Spartan's heart started to beat faster and faster and soon, the rational thoughts in his mind unfolded and faded away, leaving behind nothing but the burning sensation to kill.

But then Aeraleth's mind invaded his and swept through his consciousness like a cold river, washing away the taints of aggression and restoring his rationality and discipline.

The Spartan gave pause when he felt that strange sensation, but recovered before anything could even see that something had changed. He intercepted a battle-axe that was aimed at his chest, gave a hard pull and tore the weapon out of its owner's grip.

He stepped closer and brained the urgal with his own axe, dodged to the side to evade an overhanded strike at the hands of a Kull and then lopped his head off too. With the newly acquired axe, he danced around and delivered death-blows to at least a dozen urgals in the span of six seconds, constantly side-stepping out of their lines of attack and constantly making sure that not a single movement was wasted.

He lunged forwards, threw the axe in the air and delivered four quick jabs to the face of two nearby urgals. The axe came down again and he scooped it out of the air, never breaking its momentum even as he spun around once more to slice at the side of another Kull.

The fight raged on like that for another thirty minutes, during which Eragon and Saphira took off more than five times to take the fight to another group. It was their duty as the heroes of the people to assist where it was needed, but the Spartan knew where his place was. He was the most competent fighter in the mountain and if he could prevent the Varden from falling, he would do so.

But Aeraleth stuck by his side throughout the entire fight, constantly alternating between lashing out at several smaller groups of hostiles and charging at a larger group of urgals, allowing the soldier to close in on them and kill them.

The Spartan had lost count of the amount of kills he had made. Every movement he made and every step he took spelled death for whatever was in his way and his mind had slipped into the greys serene state where his training dictated everything he did. He moved without thinking, killed without remorse and slaughtered entire groups in the span of several seconds. Twice more his mind had threatened to be overwhelmed by the black rage that would cloud his entire being and twice more Aeraleth forced her way into his mind to snap him out of it with her presence alone.

But the last time she had done so had only been partially effective and he was still stuck with fire in his limbs and death on his mind. His environment was a black haze and his enemies were forms that had over two dozen different ways to be destroyed. They were enemies that needed to die for reasons that had long since disappeared in the thick fog in his mind.

The Spartan cut through the ranks of the urgals with ease, performing kill after kill without letting up. He never slipped up and he never left and enemy alone until he had made sure that it was dead. He shot them, stabbed them, decapitated them, dismembered them and broke them with his bare hands.

'_Spartan, focus!'_ Aeraleth cried out in his mind and he turned around, spotting her flying through the air. '_A group of Kull is heading straight for you!'_

'_Keep clear,'_ He replied as a group of twenty Kull armed to the teeth came thundering towards him. Most of them were wearing what appeared to be custom-forged swords and shields, but their armour also indicated that they held some important rank to the urgals.

The lead urgal screamed and pointed at him, while the rest of his group came charging towards him.

'_Watch the skies!' _The dragon replied and proceeded to completely ignore him and head towards the group of urgals. Her scales were as black as the night and she was impossible to spot to anything but a Spartan.

The super-soldier raised his pistol, only for Arya to jump in front of him and dart towards the nearest Kull with quick, elegant steps. The elf was moving right in front of his line of fire and if she didn't watch it, he would hit her in her back.

His finger edged on the trigger, his hand just itching to pull the trigger. The round would simply go through her body and hit the Kull in its face if he shot her, so nothing would be lost. He wanted to pull the trigger. He needed to fire and kill the giant abomination otherwise the pounding in his head would never go away; the burning in his veins would not leave him if he did not kill.

Time, in its ever bending and changing shape, preserved Arya and the urgals in still shapes as his mind raced to process what to do. '_I won't,' _The Spartan thought to himself and grimaced from the exertion. The urge to shoot the nonhuman was so incredibly strong…but he had to resist it. He had to fight it.

Grasping the little spark of rationality in his mind, he focused on what needed to be done. The elf was an ally. There were plenty of other targets to kill. She was under his protection and she would die if he shot her.

The soldier growled in frustration and through great strain and effort, he was able to prevent himself from shooting Arya in her back.

Time returned to its normal flow and he lowered his pistol, before jumping forwards and following the elf as she was approaching the Kull. If she got herself in a close-quarters battle with those things, she would get torn apart. Ajihad had told him to protect her and he wouldn't fail in doing so.

The horned beast lifted his sword and Arya's feet hit the ground-

-and his hand shot out, grabbed her by her shoulder and pulled her backwards. Her shoulder was surprisingly lean; he could feel her sinews and muscles moving underneath the skin as she wrestled against her grip with inhuman ferocity and power.

But she didn't have the reaction-time she needed to escape his grasp and within a second of having grabbed her, he pulled her backwards and away from the approaching Kull

The heavy weapon of the first urgal came crashing down at the same time Aeraleth crashed down on the floor, flattening two Kull and goring another one with her claws. Then she grabbed one of the dumbstruck monstrosities in her talons and took off again, ripping the thing limb for limb.

Arya landed on the floor, elegant as a cat and just about as soundless too.

Maine shot the looming Kull in the face, stepped out of the line as the beast's momentum kept him going and quickly moved to engage the other Kull. He scooped the sword off of the ground –the metal weapon was at least five feet long and weighed nothing to him.

Reaching out with his magic, he muttered "Reisa" and watched as the few scattered rounds of his pistol rose into the air. "Thrysta," He then called and the spent casings all found a new home in the skulls of eight-foot tall humanoids.

The remaining Kull backed off when they saw him brandishing the sword that even they had to train to carry.

Arya walked up towards him and flung him a furious look. "If you touch me again, I will hurt you. Rider or not."

He risked looking back at her. Her eyes were still calm, but the tranquil fury was rather obvious. If she was capable of hurting him, she would be free to do so. He had just attempted to murder her, even though she did not know it. "Deal," He replied and looked back at the now rapidly approaching urgals while ignoring the puzzled look that the elf threw at him.

'_Maine!'_ Aeraleth angrily shouted at his mind. '_Did you just try to kill Arya?'_

'_No,'_ He replied, feeling a small sense of guilt for what he had almost done in his blind aggression. Even though his dragon was close enough to his mind to ease his aggression, he had still been unable to control himself. The lack of discipline disgusted him. '_I saved her.'_

'_Do not presume to be able to lie to me, who is bonded to your mind and heart. I feel what lies in your soul and I am not pleased!'_

The situation was morbid, serious and aggravating –and he couldn't help but feel amused at Aeraleth's choice of words.

But a second later he felt even more disgusted by his feelings. Had he lost touch with his surroundings to such a degree that even the idea of harming allies was funny now?

'_No,'_ He thought and assumed a martial stance in front of the approaching monstrosities, '_I don't take humor. Ever.' _

The Spartan knew what was wrong with him: the only thing that could shake him out of his aggression-induced rage was violence and death. As such, only killing would grant his mind peace from the burning throbbing that it was imprisoned in.

But it would cease _now_.

'_After this is over, you and I shall discuss this to greater lengths.'_

'_After this is over you can do anything you want.'_

He took in a deep breath and then charged forwards to meet the enemy army head-on. He couldn't allow himself in indulge in useless things like emotions and moral problems. What had been done had been done and he couldn't change it. He was here to fight and these urgals were precisely what he would be fighting against; tough, primitively-armed and simple-minded hostiles.

His companion landed somewhere else on the battlefield just as Eragon and Saphira returned to the Spartan's position. Aeraleth's wings were bloody and punctured, but he hadn't felt her pain seeping through their mental link. When had that happened?

"Get on!" Eragon yelled at Arya and the elf took his hand without hesitation, swinging herself onto the blue dragon again.

He ignored Eragon's strange behavior and focused on what was the most important to him: Aeraleth.

'_You were wounded?' _He asked her as he impacted on the first urgal, crushing its sternum with two rapid punches and finishing it off with a bone-crushing uppercut.

'_Nothing serious,'_ The dragon replied as she battered a few horned enemies into the ground, breaking their spines as easily as if she was attacking a bunch of twigs.

'_Can you fly with holes in your wings?'_ He asked, killing another two Kull by quickly shattering their skulls with direct punches to the forehead.

'_I can still fly. Magic assists me in taking flight and my muscles are strong still,'_ the dragon replied.

'_Good,´_ He replied as he lashed out with his armoured leg, ramming his boot straight into the face of a nearby urgal and crushing it skull. Then he immediately jumped back to place his balance to his hind leg and parried a wicked spear-thrust with his still outspread leg. The wooden shaft splintered as his armoured appendage bashed it to the side and the urgal got knocked off his feet when he tried to keep a hold on the spear. '_Take off and spot our target.'_

'_What?'_ She replied with shock. '_Do you wish for me to leave you?'_

'_These things are working together on a mass scale. Find the one responsible, neutralize him and then return to me,'_

'_Are you going to face these things on your own?'_ She then asked him. And then she decided that she would play it higher than she could. '_No! I won't allow you to face those enemies all alone! We are a team, we-'_

'_Shut up and do as I say!' _He snapped at her, not allowing the dragoness to boss him around. He had been following her advice without second thought for a while now and he was tired of it. He was the one with years of combat-experience, not her! She was a stupid child with misconceptions regarding the world and her behaviour would get them both killed.

Aeraleth terminated the link on her end and finally left him alone in his mind. She had been putting pressure on his decisions for a long while and he was tired of it. He wanted to do things his way and not hers. Her interference had gotten him in this mess and her interference would not get him out.

With the dragon's mind torn away from his, he felt the familiar sense of heat rushing to his head. Without willing to, he slipped into a new fit of aggression and rage. The urgals had picked the wrong Spartan to mess with.

He reached out and grabbed the stumbling urgal by his throat, lifted it in the air and then spun around, slamming it into the stone ground with enough force to break every bone in its body. Immediately after that, he jumped forwards and kicked a Kull in its stomach, pulverizing its soft organs with the strike.

The Spartan's movements grew faster and more violent, losing their fluid and elegant air but also increasing in ferocity and brutality. Fire continued to flood his mind and the very moment his limbs weren't busy breaking something, they would start to tremble and shake. Details that had previously grown sharper to him were now also becoming brighter and the surroundings started to shift and turn. Sometimes, the super-soldier had gotten his eyes on seven urgals at once, but at other times he could only see his current target.

A strange, corrupted feeling started to spread through his body as he continued to rampage through the ranks of the grey-skinned hostiles, breaking necks and limbs as if they were twigs. Slowly, the grey vision turned to a vague reddish haze and his breathing was increasing at a very rapid pace. For ten minutes at an end, the Spartan continued to kill everything in his way. His combat knife was still the most efficient weapon in slicing through his targets and that was exactly what he did; using the ten-inch Starship-grade Titanium blade like only a Spartan could. Maine spun the knife around between his fingers at a speed that was impossible to follow for any living creature. In the span of a mere second, he could parry a strike, murder the attacker with his blade and then kill another urgal with a follow-up melee strike. His gauntlets dealt death without exception; the force-enhancing circuits in his armour combined with his sheer speed made his punches absolutely lethal to just about anything. He tore through armour, shattered weapons and crushed bones with lightning-fast jabs and no enemy could follow him with their eyes. He blurred through their ranks, creating havoc at an enormous scale.

Eventually, the urgals realize just what a threat he was. At that point they all started to swarm him; a wave of soldiers moved in on his left flank, his right flank and his rear. At the same time, a group of at least three dozen warriors took their position in front of him and aimed their bows.

The Spartan had just enough discipline left to realize the proper way to take care of that scenario and he tore himself out of his aggression-induced trance. These archers were untrained and weak; they fired right into the mess that was this fight, risking their own men just to hit him. And he was happy to oblige.

The urgals charged him-

-the archers released their arrows-

-and he jumped. Using his powerful muscles enhanced by the force-circuits in his armour, he leaped up in the air and gained at least three meters height. The barrage of arrows sailed underneath him and the black projectiles impacted on the rear-flank of urgals.

The Spartan landed in the middle of the archers and unleashed havoc. Like a bloodied demon, he sliced the tightly packed enemies apart. His knife whirled around in his hand like leave caught in a gale and his body danced back and forth between the ranks of the enemies, leaving a trail of corpses with every flicker of his wrist and every gesture of his fingers. He used his knife at optimal efficiency, claiming several victims within the span of a second.

But the urgals were many and they continued to close in on him, forcing him to take more and more tactical approaches to his fight. The one problem was that the Spartan no longer realized this. His mind was stuck in an endless loop of search and destroy, forcing him to take the fastest and most direct way of killing his enemies. He forwent looking at his motion tracker and forgot about his flanks, focusing single-mindedly on his victims in front of him. Only when he twisted around to deliver a more powerful strike to the one in front of him did he kill an enemy behind him, after which he immediately returned his focus on his front.

As such, the Spartan started to take hits from behind. His shields barely flared with the impacts, but the constant indication of hostilities at a position that he could not see only served to increase his frustration and hatred. The urgals, seeing how their attacks did nothing to harm the grey demon, soon started to attract the attention of their spellcasters.

One such spellcaster, a shaman, thought to attack the Spartan with conjured fireballs. It took the urgal a lot of energy to do so, but his attack was faster and deadlier than any of his brethren's.

Maine was just in the process of jamming his elbow into the face an enemy next to him when he spotted the ranged attack approaching him from his peripheral vision. Without thinking about it, he leaped backwards and threw his legs in the air, flipping himself over just as the glowing projectile sailed underneath his outstretched back. He landed on his hands and immediately kicked two urgals in the face, as he had landed into yet another clutch with his maneuver.

The Spartan assumed a normal stance with two legs planted firmly on the ground and then whirled around to stab an enemy in the face.

The urgal shaman was just about to develop a new spell in an attempt to kill him when, without warning, a black shadowy figure landed in-between him and the Spartan. It had simply happened too fast for the urgal to notice and before he could even utter the words that were required to hurt the dragon, it devoured the top of his body with a single shearing bite.

Maine turned around and spotted the black reptile. Resisting the near-overwhelming desire to lash out at the black monster, he forced himself to remain calm and steadfast. He recognizes that one; it was an ally. His ally. He couldn't harm her, as she was assisting him in his fight.

He took a deep breath and was able to lower his knife, which he had found poised to throw in his fingers. Then he attempted to contact the dragon, whose name quickly followed after the realization of her allegiance. Slowly returning to a rational state, he managed to overcome the near animalistic desire to fight and slowly extend a tendril of thoughts to the dragon.

She ignored his attempts to contact her and slashed at a group of urgals, hacking through their rudimentary armour with ease.

A Kull standing a few meters away from him raised a throwing axe, but he didn't allow the creature to finish his attack. He covered the distance between him and the towering hostile with two steps and grabbed the monster's wrist, increasing his grip to pulverize the bones.

The Kull bellowed in pain and rage and, much to the Spartan's surprise, raised his other hand to punch him in his visor.

Of course that attack never connected, as the Spartan quickly positioned his body at such a position that the monster had to spin more than hundred-eighty degrees to get to him and by that time, the armoured soldier simply pinned the grey humanoid's elbow down with his own elbow and shattered that it. The Kull roared with pain, but the sudden pressure and destruction of its elbow-joint had forced it to its knees, where it proceeded to bring its head to bear instead of its center of mass. Maine wasn't one to resist such a target when it was offered to him and quickly punched the urgal in the face with a lightning-fast hook, hearing a satisfying crunch as the head snapped sideways.

Then he retrieved the throwing axe, one second after the urgal had attempted to punch him, aimed it at another Kull about to storm Aeraleth and threw it, splitting its skull in half with the weapon.

The Spartan then covered the remaining twenty meters between him and his dragon in mere seconds, killing the black-blooded urgals that were stupid enough to stand between him and his ally without breaking stride. He arrived just in time to prevent a Kull to slash at the dragon's wing with a battle-axe and rammed a knee into its ribcage, killing it instantly by pulverizing its heart and lungs

He attempted to contact Aeraleth again and this time, put a little bit more urgency behind his shout.

'_Let us make one thing clear,'_ a feminine voice then told him with a tone that made it very, _very _clear to the Spartan that she was royally pissed off. Even though she still sounded more like a teenage girl in his head, there was still something else present. A certain effect in her voice that made her sound more royal and convincing than any officer could ever hope to aspire. He disliked the compelling effect of her voice. His body was ready to obey her will without thinking about it and that gave the dragoness so much control over him. '_I am NOT yours to command. You might have more experience than I do, but I am so much more than simply your ally in combat. You have no right to tell me what to do and I will not have it!'_

Maine was more disturbed by the fact that he kept losing his cool in the fight with ever-increasing frequencies than the dragon being upset with him, but he knew where his priorities lay. If the bond between him and Aeraleth ran so deep that even his body was completely ensnared in it, he couldn't afford to anger her like that. His body was bound to her body like his mind was bound to her mind. He knew that he had no choice but to force himself to act without animosity against her but it felt so forced…so compulsive. He wasn't capable of talking to her like a civilian would, as she expected of him. It wasn't who he was –it wasn't _what_ he was.

'_I am here to free those two eggs for you, but nothing more. I want to return to the UNSC and to do so I will finish these fights ASAP. I expect you to follow my lead.'_

'_You still wish to escape your fate? I chose you from my egg because I knew that you were worthy of becoming a rider. You are here now, you have a destiny. It is foolish to try and escape it.'_

She was right. He knew that and she knew that…and he hated it. He was stuck on this world with magic, elves and dwarves and there was no returning to the UNSC for him. The mission to recover Math had been a disaster…the random trajectory that the _When Duty Ends_ had been forced into had thrown him into a completely new conflict. But this wasn't how he wanted to live; he wanted to remain with the UNSC and fight for humanity. He wanted to destroy all that remained of the Covenant and make sure that the Flood was gone forever. Then and only then could he res. But until then, his purpose was to protect mankind.

His thoughts must have been a bit too close to the surface, as Aeraleth took a gentler tone and tried to comfort him, despite her initial anger with him. '_Be calm Maine, there are humans here. You can still protect them, even though your initial duty has burned away. You hold a new duty here. Focus now, for we have long to go.'_

He grunted in reply and backed up against the dragoness, the last remnants of the black fog in his mind clearing up, allowing him to analyze the battlefield with serene clarity. The urgals around them were slowly creeping backwards, creating a large circle around them in doing so.

The Spartan raised his pistol –having only spent half a clip during the fight- and tried to spot the reason for the hostiles to retreat like that.

Aeraleth suddenly hissed in anger and he felt a stab of fear running through their link. She quickly informed him of what had disturbed her by sending a smell through their mental link, but he couldn't understand what she meant with it. He simply lacked the senses to translate the otherwise nonsensical message.

'_What's wrong?'_ He asked and scanned his surroundings for a change in the fight. The answer presented itself pretty quickly when he spotted a row of urgals parting near the back of their formation, allowing a person to step through their ranks unopposed.

Aeraleth did not answer him, instead choosing to send him a garbled collection of emotions and smells. He still didn't understand a damn thing, but the intention was crystal-clear to him: she was afraid. Honestly so.

And he had the feeling that the cause of her fears was currently walking calmly through the ranks of the urgals, heading towards him and his companion with the composed confidence that could only fit an officer in command.

The leader of this invasive force was currently heading out to meet them, Maine was sure of that.

The two tallest Kull at the front of the lines, roughly ten meters away from him, stepped aside and allowed the previously unseen person to step into the clearing.

It was the shade, Raia. She was clad in a dark outfit that held a small cape around her shoulders, which ended at a point below her knees. She had leather gauntlets and a piece of trimmed, black armour that stopped at a point above her naval, where a slit of white skin was clearly visible. Her elegant legs were completely bare, showing the extremely pale skin to an even greater degree. A pair of leather boots that reached all the way to her knees shrouded her feet and the Spartan could immediately see that, while they were designed with intimidation and domination in mind, they also protected the wearer without compromising security. Whoever had designed her outfit had a pretty good idea where the line between useful and pleasant lay.

"Rider," She said, her soft voice sounding rather inaudible when compared to the raging fights around them.

He raised his pistol at her head and was about to pull the trigger when the shade did something that made him stay his hand.

The female shade eyed his weapon with suspicion and her eyes narrowed, the red irises appearing even more inhuman as she did so. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. Not if you want young Eragon to live." Her voice didn't sound as exotic as Arya's did, but it possessed the same manipulating edge that Aeraleth had. That fact was not lost on the Spartan.

Her words were enough to prevent him from blowing her brains out. Eragon had disappeared with Saphira and Arya to some unmentioned place on the battlefield. The boy might become overwhelmed with fear, but both his dragon as the elf would not let that happen. He hadn't fled from the battle; he had to have gone somewhere else. So what did she mean?

"Where is he?" He calmly replied without lowering his gun.

"Somewhere in the dwarves' pitiful city-mountain, at Durza's mercy."

Durza, the shade that had been hunting Eragon and Saphira? The shade that had some history with Arya? Why would Eragon be fighting him? He had a priority on the battlefield, so why –unless Durza was the one responsible for gathering all these urgals under one banner. If the boy had gone off to face that man, he wouldn't be alone. Arya and the dragon would be with him.

"Why should I believe you?" He asked her.

"You can ask your dragon. Those creatures always take pleasure in keeping secrets."

'_Aeraleth?'_ He dared to ask his companion with his mind, but he never took his eyes off of the shade. '_What does she mean?'_

Aeraleth uncomfortably shifted her wings and then replied without shame or hesitation. '_While you were fighting those urgals, I communicated with Saphira. The twins, who were in constant contact with Eragon, had told him that a breach was happening in the dwarf-den. They asked him to deal with it, but then she got wounded. Arya stayed behind with her at the dragonhold to heal her while Eragon went down to fight off the invading urgals.'_

He cursed under his breath. There wasn't any need to ask her why she hadn't told him that sooner, because he hadn't exactly been unoccupied. But still, why wouldn't Eragon discuss that with other people? Not that he would have given a damn, but the idea of the young rider running around on his own simply smelled like one big trap. Someone had been feeding the twins a line of nonsense –or the twins had been leading Eragon that nonsense. Could their spite and grudge be so big that they wanted to harm him and the Varden's future to such degree?

"Why doesn't Durza kill him?" He asked.

The shade's eyes widened and her mouth opened slightly, as if she was surprised. But that expression didn't last long and after about a second of open reaction at his words, her face reassumed its normal calculating features. "Because…the king…needs the rider and his dragon alive."

That made sense. If this Galbatorix could break Eragon's mind, he had one more powerful and faithful servant to command. But why chase after Eragon and not him? Not that he minded that, but the reason was lost on him. Why didn't the king aim for the both of them?

"So why should I be worried about anything?" He replied. If the king wanted Eragon alive, the Varden had a major tactical advantage. It was notoriously harder to capture someone alive rather than killing them.

"Because the king can choose between two servants. He would like for both of them to serve him, but he also knows that that cannot happen. He gets one and my lady gets one. Durza can kill the boy and I can capture you, or I can kill you and he can capture the boy."

"Why not capture both of us?" He asked.

"Because this situation is not favorable. I am confident that I can beat you, but I will not risk a thing. Lower your weapon or I shall signal Durza to kill the boy."

Her logic was flawed. He didn't care for Eragon and as soon as he pulled the trigger, she would be dead too. Then nobody would capture him and the king's plans would be in disarray. This shade hadn't thought it through –why hadn't she thought it through? "One problem," He then stated.

"What?" She replied.

This was a bluff. Durza would not kill Eragon and she had tried to kill Aeraleth before. As such, this entire plan of hers did not make sense. "I don't care if you kill him."

And then he pulled the trigger three times, sending three rounds tearing through the air in a race to the shade's head.

But the redhead moved out of the way –faster than she had ever moved before. Her body twisted to the side with a speed that rivalled a Spartan and then she headed for him, pulling out a long black sword that ended in a wicked curve.

At the same time, the mass of urgals charged at Aeraleth. She sought to either force him to surrender by harming his dragon or simply putting too much pressure on him by forcing him to defend Aeraleth while fending her off.

Once again, one thing was wrong with that otherwise powerful checkmate: he was perfectly capable of protecting his dragon while fighting the shade.

He placed his pistol back, as it would only serve to hinder him in what was going to be a full-on melee brawl.

'_Aeraleth, fly!'_ He ordered.

'_I will never leave your side, little soldier. I will not see you becoming this one's toy.'_

Did that imply she did want to see him becoming someone else's toy?

The shade reached him and lashed out at him with her sword, showing a remarkable knowledge of martial arts as her stance remained completely unfazed by the powerful lunging attack. Her rear leg was straight, but not locked and her front leg was slightly bowed. Both of her feet were aiming at him and she had her balance perfectly in order. This would not be an easy opponent to fight in close-combat, he was sure of that.

And to make matters worse for him, this shade knew too many things to simply let go. The reveal of the Varden, magic and elves had taught a great many things and he would need as much additional Intel as he could get. This one was a perfect source of information and killing her would be a waste.

He intercepted the sword-blow with his left forearm and immediately moved to punch her in her stomach with the other, but the heavy steel impacted on his arm with much more force than he had accounted for and he felt his shielding drain twenty percent.

The last time he had been hit in the face by the punch of a Hunter, it had taken fifty percent off. A brute could take thirty percent off. This shade was about as strong as a brute was and fast enough to dodge bullets, but was she also as disciplined and focused?

Before his fist could impact on her abdomen, she positioned her hind-leg forty-five degrees to the side and turned her slender hips away, forcing him to barely miss her. He had not been as foolish as to throw his weight behind the punch, as that would only serve to unbalance him. No, he had not given the shade an opening to work with. He had however, given her an opportunity.

And she took that without hesitation. She didn't stop twisting her hips and performed a whole rotation, bringing her sword to bear on his neck.

The Spartan didn't full-on block the strike however and leaned backwards, allowing the stainless steel to sail past him without harming him. Then he reached out and tried to snatch the blade out of her hands, but she stepped forwards and tried to slam her knee into his stomach, which he only managed to avoid by completely side-stepping her person, bringing himself at her side. Then he aimed at grabbing her by her throat, but she was too fast for that and leaped to the side, whispering a word in the process.

A storm of fire appeared around him and he instantly felt the internal temperature of his suit rising a few degrees. But before the fire could drain more than ten percent of his shields, he jumped into the air and used his powerful legs to launch him through the red torrent of flames. If she wanted to use magic, he could play with her.

'_Aeraleth, close your eyes!'_ He ordered the dragon and immediately followed up with an audible word: "Garjzla!"

The word had to directly translate to either light or heat, as the twins had used it to generate a hovering light. As such, he too could use it to produce light. And if he focused on purely sending out light and not heat, he wouldn't even waste too much energy.

Tapping into the supply of power, he combined the streaming energy in his mind with the idea of what he wanted to reach with the light. The result of that combination of effort presented itself rather quickly; a flash of the brightest intensity flared through the cavernous mountain, blinding the urgals and probably the shade too.

The Spartan had his eyes closed at the time of the discharge and wasn't fazed in the least by the sudden use of magic. He had effectively blinded all his enemies and with that, created some breathing room for his dragon.

The Shade scowled at his tactics and stepped backwards, muttering a word in the ancient language that even he could not decipher. Then she opened her eyes and stared directly at him, showing that she had somehow recovered from his magical assault.

He shook his head and moved to intercept her once more, ignoring the various stumbling and blinded urgals that were attempting to feel their way to their enemy. One of them got too close to him and he promptly killed it with his combat knife, without allowing himself to be redirected from his initial target.

Raia somehow managed to use that half second he used to kill the urgal to close in on him, throwing an palm thrust at his chin.

He side-stepped her attack and brought his knife down to her spine, but the shade spun around faster than the knife could descent and while his blade hacked through empty space, the shade slammed a leg into his helmet, knocking another fifteen percent off of his shield and setting him up for another attack. Said other attack involved her spinning around his back and then trying to swipe his legs away from underneath his body. His stance, however, was too wide and her body didn't hold enough power to knock him down. Her leg came to a hold against his and he used that opening in return to lash out with his elbow, intent on knocking her out.

Aeraleth meanwhile was pounding away at the urgals around her. She snapped their spines with her tail, ripped them apart with her claws and dismembered them with her jaws. Each and every movement of her powerful limbs meant another casualty for Raia's army. But they were too numerous for the mighty dragon to handle and because she couldn't even breathe fire, she was stuck with beating armed enemies to death while risking getting skewered in turn. And slowly but steadily, as the Spartan and the Shade fought their duel, the dragon's considerable defense was getting whittled down by dozens of strikes at her body. Swords bounced off of her thick scales, axes struck at her armoured sides and arrows penetrated her wings but she did not yield to the enemy.

As Raia and Maine fought their lethal dance together, the shade's facial expression slowly turned to a mixture of anger and something that the Spartan could not completely comprehend.

Her gestures and attacks with her sword increased in frequency and ferocity but lost their elegance and fluency, while his attacks were picking up a gracious pattern that only served to augment and bolster his speed. The super-soldier found that the shade was still not nearly as fast in processing the fight as he was. She might move her limbs with a speed that rivalled an unarmoured Spartan, but she lacked the cognitive ability to comprehend the moves.

And as their blades clashed together with ever increasing speed, Maine came to understand that one slip-up for the shade would mean defeat for her, while a slip-up on his side would only mean adaptation and improvisation. She could not beat him in close-combat and she knew that.

She jabbed at his ribs and he blocked her strike, battering the black sword with his equally black knife. The starship-grade metal alloy in his blade allowed him to perform feats that would shatter other blades and because it lacked the cumbersome length of a sword, he was capable of doing so much more than the shade ever could. She moved her sword again, aiming at his head with a horizontal sweep reminiscent of an Elite swinging his energy-sword. He stepped back, allowed the sword to pass by his torso and then struck at her again, slashing at her gut with his knife.

The shade blocked the attack, nearly lost her balance at the power that lay behind it and then stepped back. At that point, the urgals had split up in two large groups: one to attack Aeraleth and one to attack him. It annoyed him greatly that he had to break up his own moves to counter the mass of hostiles that sought to disturb him. He had shaken the overly-aggressive nature of his mind off and he was able to move even faster because of it. No urgal was able to touch him and as he continued to exchange dozens of blows with the shade at a speed that only they could follow, he also broke their contact off every few hits to murder an urgal that came to close to him. He combined the attacks that he aimed at the Shade to counter the ones that were aimed at him and in turn, she used the attacks that the urgals threw at him in an attempt to overcome him.

"Why?" She sneered at him and blocked a knife-thrust. "Why did you side with the Varden? I can feel it in you; you are not like them!"

He ignored her and increased the speed with which he struck, chaining half a dozen of slashes at her chest within a second, crushing her resistance and slicing a large gash in her armour. He was so focused on her that the other targets near him became a blur, only to be interacted with when they came too close.

And then a sharp stab of pain ran through his legs and he nearly faltered in his attack, almost like the tendons in his legs had been severed.

"Aeraleth?" He said aloud and turned around to look at his dragon, breaking both the concentration that he had built up to deal with the shade as perhaps the greatest rule of close-combat, looking away from his enemy.

The dragon had been unaware of an attack on her flank and because of that, two Kull had managed to land a crushing blow on one of her hind legs. Blood poured out of two large open wounds on her leg even as she spun around to disembowel them with her claws.

'_I am fine, do not worry about me!´_ She cried back, struggling to keep the pain out of her voice. She failed miserably.

The Spartan turned back to Raia, half expecting a new impact at his head for that momentary slip of concentration. But she did not use the opening in combat. Instead, she was looking at the dragon with a strange look in her eyes.

So he took the opening that had been created and lashed out with his fist, landing a blow on her stomach so fast that she couldn't even register that she had been hit until the pain hit her.

Unfortunately, she wasn't the only one who was suddenly overcome by a nasty sensation. A jolt of chilling pain impacted on his ribs and he hissed through his teeth as the sensation racked not only his breathing, but also his mind. At the same time, a high-pitched roar reverberated through the cavern and he launched a follow-up kick at the shades side, knocking her into the ranks of the urgals.

And then he spun around, pulled his pistol out and emptied the half-full clip. Six hostiles, a combination of Kull and urgals, fell to the ground with spurts of black blood leaking out of their skulls and as soon as they toppled, he was able to see what had happened to Aeraleth. Two gashes ran across the side of her chest, looking like a cross. A very thin sword stuck out of that breach in her scales, looking as if it had been inserted at least a foot into her ribs.

He knew that the pain must be agonizing for Aeraleth, as he was unable to immediately block the near-paralyzing pain out of his body at first. She had been stabbed between her ribs and the only reason that she was still standing was because her heart had been missed. She had been extremely lucky, but that didn't place her out of the way of death. She could die by internal bleeding, she could die by shock or blood loss or she could die because her attention was aimed at her own wounds instead of her environment.

She could die and that was the most important thing to him. '_Can you fly?'_ He frantically called at her, but she was barely able to form a comprehensive reply because of her pain.

And whatever she had wanted to say to him was lost in a sudden haze as the Shade launched her very first mental assault on him, during which he sacrificed whatever time he had left to form a proper defense to carefully block Aeraleth out first, as he did not want her to suffer what was about to go down in his mind: the consciousness of the Shade was dark, deep and alien. If the mind of Aeraleth could be compared to a bottomless blue lake bordering on a mountain-range, Raia's mind could be compared to a dark, stormy ocean that only housed lurking monsters. He couldn't feel where her mind ended and where his own mind began and he was only capable of throwing up a thick wall to block her out while he got a feel on his situation.

And that wasn't even considering the scale of her attack; the twins had only been able to stick a single barbed blade into his mind, but Raia was capable of impaling him with easily a dozen burning and twisting blades –all of which outclassed the two bald idiots attack on their own. Her entire consciousness rammed against his defenses as his brain struggled to even comprehend her proximity. There was an entire landscape hidden inside her mind; dark, complicated and too strange to understand. It was nothing compared to the simple minds of both of the twins, as he had been able to comprehend them after a brief struggle. But this? There was no way he could work with this. Her mind was simply too…alien…for him.

~0~

The human squirmed underneath Raia's attack and she hissed with hatred as she turned and twisted the probes that had been extended by her superior mind. She hated the human. She hated him and all that he represented. He and his kind, always surrounding themselves with things that they cared for. Always seeking that which gave them courage and love, making their live meaningful. The kind that she had once belonged to, before that…that _thing_ had taken her over, melded with her body and mind alike to begin the twisting and shaping.

The iron-hard walls around the mind of the rider were considerably more powerful than those she had broken before. And that didn't make sense. It simply didn't. He was too strong for her to tear apart within the first few seconds of their fight, unlike anyone she had ever faced before. But that could not be; his dragon had been mortally wounded in the fight, stabbed in the chest as it tried to protect its human. The pain that should be flowing through the mind of the armoured human should be utterly obliterating his very core, yet he still possessed enough power to defy her. Her!

How? How could he do something like that? It was physically impossible for him to be standing upright, yet he was here, standing strong enough to withstand the might of a shade. And not any shade, but her. She who was unique amongst a dozen individuals; she who had been granted the gracing mercy of awareness at the hands of her mistress. The human's defiance was an insult to her and her master and she would not have it! He would pay with his blood.

She plunged her probes deeper into the mind of the human, watching as he continued to defend himself from the grey monsters with a speed that outclassed that of the elves. His concentration despite his obvious agony was simply too high for it to have a human origin. He had to have at least a dozen spellcasters helping him, the cowardly creature.

She growled and struck at him with her sword, but like water he flowed to the side and smote a Kull with some complicated movement.

How was he doing all of this? He was poisoned, tortured by his mind and surrounded by death. He should be breaking down and kneeling before her! Even a mighty dragon could not withstand these circumstances; had it been his partner facing her in the exact same battle, with its rider wounded to the brink of death, it would have fallen to her might.

Oh how Raia hated the human. How she despised him with her entire being. He had killed her body once, humiliating her with a forceful and exceedingly intimate death. He had wronged her unlike anything could have ever wronged her and that was only how they had met.

And then the egg had hatched for _him_ and he had been granted a partner unlike anyone could ever have. Unlike _she _could ever have. And that had marked the human as her mortal foe; when he had first arrived to fight her and her master, she had thought him to be a demon. Inhuman, outlandish and lethal. A mindless enemy to be respected for its prowess and mercilessly slaughtered for its wishes and intents. A creature that she could compare herself to, perhaps.

But then the dragon had hatched for him and she had realized that the mind she had carefully been scouting was not a demonic one at all; it was a human one. And had she pressed the assault at the very first second, she would have found that out. And she would have killed him then and there.

As the grey human attempted to grab her wrist, the beating of her heart increased and she leaped backwards, desperately trying to escape his attack. Her first death at his hands might have been humiliating, but her second death had been plain torture. He had destroyed her body with a ferocity that fitted only with the cruelest of Lethrblaka. It hurt her to merely think about it and the very presence of this human was a tortuous experience for her mind. She did not want to fear him; she was Raia! The most unique and gifted among her kind! Graced by her mistress mercy and gifted with the darkest of magic. He should not be so mortifying…but he was. She couldn't forget what he had done to her and it clashed so much with what he was. Humans were never so cruel, or brutal.

Sure, she would get attacked on sight everywhere she went. Sure the humans would try to skewer her heart with every ounce of strength they could muster, merely because she was evil in their eyes. But that death was nothing compared to what this rider had done. He was a twisted, sadistic and spoiled bastard that had been gifted with the two things that she could never ever have been gifted with: love and admiration. Love from a deeply-running bond with a dragon and admiration of a nation that depended on him.

Raia pressed the assault performed a series of quickly-escalating slashes with her sword, hacking at him from her left shoulder, twisting the sword over the same shoulder before placing it at the other, continuing the fluent movement that would only end once she had killed her enemy

.Her enemy's abilities were far beyond anything she had ever seen before. She could not harm him physically and even when she got lucky and hit him with an otherwise bone-crunching strike, an unknown ward would deflect her attack. How much energy did this monstrous child possess? Just how much luck had live granted him?

The rider's ability only served to further infuriate her and she continued to slash at him, wanting to make him feel every bit of her rage and wrath until he lay dead and mangled at her feet. She could not express just how much she despised this one.

The rider struck at her again with his dark knife, drawing blood as he pierced the skin of her cheek. It was a minor scratch, but it broke her concentration and a counter-attack was initiated by the human. His probe was singular and that made his attack less than hers. But his probe was smooth, sharp and powerful. It latched onto her mind and pierced her defenses, forcing her to relive some memories as they came bubbling out from her sadly twisted mind.

_She was standing on the side of a mountain, watching as the hated human and his black dragon approached her trap. She would make him feel what her life felt like before she killed him. She would kill his dragon, forcing him to live through the worst agonies and pains of feeling a part of him be consumed in darkness. To be alone in the world, knowing that it had once been differently. That was how she would punish him and only then would she be happy._

She screamed with rage and drove her burning nails deeper into the mind of her enemy, forcing him towards the pit that was his dragon's pain. Forcing him to embrace her attack, The harming of his partner must have been deeper than she had expected, because she made her way past the initial defenses and forced him to spill his own memories.

_The human stood atop a hill, clad in his armour and wearing a large weapon. Ahead lay a human, hidden in surroundings that she did not recognize. How certain he felt of himself, how prepared he was to take the lives of his fellow men._

Raia cried out in pain as all the information on this boy clashed ferociously. He was a human boy, a teenager. He wore armour, but was too young to block her. But he moved faster than an elf did and struck harder than a Kull did. His brutality and ferocity matched that of a mindless shade and his endurance far outclasses that which she knew of, with his poisoned body and bleeding mind. His dragon was dying and he was still standing, while he should be in shock. She saw him as selfish and sadistic and hated him for having what she did not, but that single memory added yet another thing to the pile of chaos that the rider was. Killing was not fun for him, murdering was not a sport. He simply did. Why? Why did he do that? Why had he hurt her so much? Had that been because she had attempted to kill his dragon?

She whispered two dark words in the old language and felt the energy seep out of her body. This human was not defended against magic, only against physical attacks. The dimwitted soul had not prepared for a foe that could see underneath his helmet; one who could see what they hurt. If she wanted to his heart, she needed to imagine his hear. She needed to understand about it and because of his thick armour, she could not properly execute that magic. It would only rebound off of his wards.

But this spell was different. She had reached the point of no return and would make the human suffer for bringing her there: she had intertwined their minds. She had forged their defenses together, linking them more closely than ever before. It was nowhere near the bond with a dragon, but it was enough for her to force the human to understand her hatred of him. To feel fear for the last time.

But the spell backfired somehow; the memories of her life and the memories of his life continued to meet in the warring of their minds and she groaned as she felt another one of this human's disgusting memories. She didn't want to know anything of him, as she knew him. She knew his kind and she didn't want –

_The human was sitting in a dark room, his body that of a child. His face was obscured and his clothes were ragged. The young boy had his arms wrapped around him and was silently hurting inside, feelings of detachment and disbelief clouding his juvenile mind._

The shade clenched her sword-hand and tried to block out the memory, but the message was clear. And one of her own flooded into the mutual complex that was their minds, forcing the rider to feel her pain as well.

_She was crouched low in a tree, concealed from those below. It was just after her mistress had saved her from the fates of the likes of Durza and Kruag, forced to be husks for the spirits inside of them. She had attempted to enter the city, but the guards attacked her. And her body had killed them in retaliation before she even knew what it would do when faced with stress. The humans wanted to kill her purely because of what she was and she hadn't done anything to harm them! They were pathetic monsters and she would kill them. But it was so soon…so unnecessary._

The redheaded woman whimpered as the painful memory struck the human's mind and she knew that he knew. She did not want him to feel such things; she wanted him to fear her, not laugh at her pain!

The intensity of their link grinded all around them to a halt, forcing them to live through each other's feelings in the span of one second. Life was standing still around them and her body was so incredibly slow. It would not serve her. Never before had she attempted such a spell, but she couldn't have known about the effects. It was simply impossible to account for such things when concerning magic.

A new memory of the human surged forwards.

_Standing still inside of a white chamber, surrounded by men and women in white coats. His body no longer looked like a child yet his mind was still similar to one. His limbs were unmoving and his face without emotion, yet his inside his mind raged. He was eleven years old and donning his armour for the first time-_

Raia gasped and tore herself away from the contact. It did not make sense! The suit she was seeing was similar to the one in the memory! Its size might be unclear, but that was it. Had this human been wearing the armour of a warrior since he was a child? He could not have faked this, as their minds were intertwined. His inhuman concentration prevented her from raping his mind, but still she could feel that his memories were true.

_The human stood in a hall, with a small group of strange-clothed people questioning him. Their voices were inaudible, his feelings clear. He did not understand the people asking him questions and he could not comprehend why they were outraged. Had he not done his duty? Had he not killed the enemy? _

His walls slipped as his dragon unleashed another agony-induced wail. The pain and hurt that she –for it was undoubtedly a she that was dying in pain- was distracting the soldier and that allowed Raia to glance into his mind.

And what she saw frightened her. This human was no longer human; no longer the enemy she had made him. He was no longer a selfish and blessed child: he was now a relentless, unstoppable force that could withstand the anguish and agony of a part of him crying out in desperation and despair. His mind was alien, inhuman and dark.

The shade could not comprehend his mind. She did not understand what drove him, what his motives were or even what made him walk. The only thing she understood was that she did not understand him. His endurance matched that of her mistress and for the very first time, she understood how this…this disturbed _child…_ could have possibly killed her.

He was inhumanity made human. Something that nobody can ever understand.

Raia's hatred of him washed away, turning into pity and fear. No longer was this a lucky and selfish hero to the people: now he was a corrupted child that lived to kill. She knew that he was locked in an endless clash with the world, in which neither him nor the world understood the other. He was like her in that way; feared by those that did not understand. The bond with his dragon was no blessing, for it was a curse.

And he frightened her. Heavens he frightened her. Her previous deaths paled to what she felt at the moment. The pain-induced howling of his dragon had bolstered his resolve and the bare tendril of thought carved through her resistance, which seemed feeble when compared to the presence of this demonic child, this disturbed demon.

_She cried out in pain and desperation as she vengeful spirits delved into her mind, possessing her once-human body and burning away everything that had once made her who she was: Raia. They ruined her frame and purged her consciousness over the course of four hours, as she fought them endlessly and desperately. The desperation of a young woman in despair was all-powerful, yet not enough to block the hateful spirits. She lies sprawling on the ground, sobbing as he mind was being torn apart. She had lost. _

The Shade fell to the ground as the rider rose up, the pain and agony of his draconic bond flooding into her as he tore her defenses to pieces. Fear and desperation rivalled only by the ones felt at the time of her possession arose in her heart and her body automatically replied in kind, preserving her live as it had done when the guards had been about to stab her. Her mouth moved and magic overflowed her system, breaking down every barrier that she had and using nearly all of her magic to jump-start the poisen in the human's system. She knew it was there and it was the only way to end their shared suffering; to prevent the rider from feeling his dragon dying and to prevent her from sharing in kind.

But the human did not fall. He did not succumb to the raging spasms that the drug would cause. Instead, he calmly stepped towards her even as she frantically scrambled backwards. A vague buzzing near her mind made her aware of the death of a person called Durza, but that did not bother her. She was alone one way or the other, lying defeated on the floor as she desperately tried to get away from the impossible rider. The urgals had stopped attacking and the dragon was still not dead.

Raia whimpered in fear as the dragon whimpered in pain. The grey warrior approached her and tears flowed down her cheeks, uncontained by her raging emotions. She could no longer hate this human and that made her despair all the worse; now he was just the cause of both pity and fear. He was impossibly inhuman and she was scared. So scared.

The human's head snapped up and he looked around, witnessing the urgals turning around and leaving. Durza had forced those creatures to unite with a spell, bending the minds of their war-chiefs. Now that the male Shade was dead…the urgals had fallen apart.

Suddenly, the boy who would kill her turned around and ran away from her, heading towards the dragon that had been so wounded during the fight.

Slowly, the spell that bound Raia's mind and the rider's mind together faded away, leaving her alone with her tired-out consciousness. Her body could no longer move, even if she had wanted it to. Almost all of her energy was gone and she had disgraced herself by cowering so openly…and yet the human had spared.

And as the rider held his bleeding dragon in his arms, Raia felt not for herself. She felt for the dragon that had fallen…for the human that had been so twisted in the past. The human was capable of surviving so much damage on his own…but he was vulnerable if his dragon could not defend herself.

It was obvious that he wanted to capture her…but his attention was aimed rightfully so at the dragon. Could he perhaps heal her? Or would she die in his arms?

Perhaps that would be the best solution. For the dragon to die, releasing the warrior's mind from whatever state it was suffering from. The shock would either kill him or drive him mad…and seeing as he was inhuman, it might release him and make him human gain.

Raia slowly lowered her head and rested on the cold floor. The urgals were retreating, Durza was dead and the Varden was victorious…and as she watched the dragon moaning in pain after having refused to leave her partner's side, dying for her troubles, the shade wondered whether her mistress would care for her like that, should she ever perish in her arms.

~0 ~

_That is what these Spartans have been receiving for a long time: counter-agents to keep at bay all the harmful effects of the drugs that were implemented during the augmentation procedure. And as it turned out, a delay ranging between a few days to a few weeks in the regular schedule of anti-drug administrations will result in a major decline in the Spartan's ability to reason, cognitive functions and clear thinking. In short; the animal part of the brain will take over completely and weaken the power of the mind. It is unknown whether it will cause severe dementia, insanity or death…and I don't even know if it is permanent or not. _

- Mental Health Specialist Sunfield, logbook entry 4, 24th of August 2552- continuation.


	9. Physician, heal thyself

_Well I´ll be damned. 30 reviews in one chapter. That is really, truly awesome. So awesome that I don't think I can respond to all of them in one Pre-story babbling. So in this chapter I will reply only with the barest amount of words but…ehm…thanks to everyone who left a review, faved or followed! You guys are awesome!_

_**Nagashazzir: **__thanks._

_**The Blue Tigrex: **__Sucks to hear that. You going to be alright?_

_**Cthulujr: **__thanks. This isn't the last thing from Paolini I will change._

_**Jcraft596: **__Awww, that makes me all happy :D_

_**Great story: **__horrible cliffhangers…I understand. My problem lies with the whole need to finish a chapter at a point a chapter needs to be finished. But I shall try!_

_**Exillion: **__Perhaps. Perhaps not._

_**Kain Everguard: **__Indeed._

_**Deathmask83: **__well, I will work as hard as possible to make the romance happen. _

_**Twubs: **__thanks. Who knows?_

_**Denalian: **__I shall._

_**Water Guardian 26: **__oh well, who knows._

_**The Lone Swordswolf: **__Oh I have some things planned._

_**Guest1: **__ehm…I don't think so. I wanted to make it post ME1 of possible._

_**The reviewer: **__that's the problem with dragons; arrogant, stubborn and blind at some aspects. All of them. But don't worry; plenty of change in the air :) _

_**Anon: **__will this make it better?_

_**Ww1990ww: **__he only cares for one person at this point: his partner. Other than that…expandable._

_**Primordial soul: **__I do like writing. It is also me preparing to write a book, so I really do hope to eventually write all sorts of scenes. And yes, this story will focus even more on character development than the last one. But that doesn't mean there won't be physical threats :D_

_(please do write a Shepard/Nyreen story, there is too little femTurian contect on the site.) I'll eagerly await your updates too!_

_**IlikedaBubbles: **__ ehm…how about _

_**Sierra110: **__ain't that the truth._

_**Teleri: **__shit that is epic :O And that after 8 chapters? I have only begun!_

_**Kane: **__to be honest, I hadn't planned anything with the shards :/ _

_And sorry, I can't do a Galby=UNSC scene. However, such scenes where only 007 and his conversational partner understand what is going on WILL happen. Also, I will include a training scene later. But if 007 is in it will be a different story._

_And spoilers. And…ehm…within a few chapters :D_

_**Solar Jarl the Cannon King 44K: **__Thanks. And spoilers._

_**Guest2: **__My friend and I had been brainstorming about a mega-crossover where the survivors meet up again…with all their allies and friends and other people._

_**Tuutje07: **__Yay! Thanks!_

_**AFK74FU2: **__alright, I'll have to look into that then._

_**Polarpwnage: **__you sir, humble me with your kind words._

_**GhostShadow6661: **__ehm…well…look, shiny distraction! And…well, not to brag, but with the augmentations that the SS-II class has received, I guess Maine would win. And then he would need critical medical aid.._

…_also, did you just work through 2 of my stories before starting at a third? That is some dedication right there! _

_**Dragonskyt1: **__thanks! If there is one thing I hate, it's OOC'ness. _

_So, one-and-a-half page of babbling later…let the story commence!_

_**~0~**_

"_Alright you dogs, listen up! We've had reports of a group of strangely clothed men and women traveling south, through the empire without being apprehended. So far, they have managed to avoid our patrols –but not anymore. Saddle your horses up! We are going to hunt them down and capture them, for the king!"_

Unidentified group of empire cavalry-men, approximately eleven to twelve days after incursion of UNSC asset 2S-007

~0~

Aeraleth hissed through her bloodied teeth when her rider reached out to touch her wounded, heaving chest. The mere thought of anyone near her wound hurt her body even more than it already did and even though it concerned the only person she trusted with the task, she did not want to have him near her. The wound itself was gruesome enough, but her very instinct rebelled against someone touching it.

She had been stupid. So very stupid. Her rider had warned her away multiple times, but she hadn't listened. She had been too stupid to listen…and she had ended up paying the price for it. When the Urgals had gone and surrounded her rider, she had feared for his life. He had been capable of easily killing half a hundred of them single-handedly and unarmed, but had still thought that he would end up hurting himself. She simply hadn't wanted to leave him. So she had touched down once again, refused to leave his side and fought alongside him –not realizing that her combat-prowess was not enough for her to stay her ground in such an overwhelming group of enemies.

The dragon whimpered and slowly lowered her body to the ground, her limbs starting to lose the energy they needed to keep her upright. She hurt so much. It was as if her chest was on fire, her innards filled with frost and her brain working against herself in an attempt to lull her into sleep. Never in her life had she felt so much pain and she instantly knew that this had to be what death felt like. Not just the burning agony of pain, or the searing pain that she had felt when the wolves had torn at their wings. This felt worse…this felt like death seeping into her marrows, draining her energy out until there remained no more.

She had been too blind to notice the group of urgals approaching her rear and without Maine there to defend her, the monstrosities had been able to hack at her legs, crippling her in her fight against the overwhelming waves of enemies.

"Stay with me," Her rider told her. He sounded like he was stuck underneath a waterfall…his voice was weak and distant.

Or that could be her having difficulties concentrating. She knew that she had made a mistake and she was paying for it. She had ignored the words of her rider, who had more experience in combat than she had. He was her superior in the hunt and she had gone and ignored him, thinking that he was still a child. But she had been wrong…her impatient sense of superiority had merely ended with her dying of a stab-wound to her chest.

"Aeraleth, focus!" Maine snapped at her as he stood next to her, his arms hanging limb next to his body and his black helmet staring at her bleeding frame. She had been stabbed in her chest by a long, thin sword that had penetrated through her sturdy ribs and she couldn't help but try to comfort her rider. He looked so helpless…

Aeraleth didn't want to die. She was barely a few weeks old and there were so many things to look forward to for her. But…she also knew when to stop struggling in vain. Her mistake had killed her. She had failed to protect her rider from the shade.

Her tongue flicked against her teeth and she exhaled painfully, trying to find some way to ease the raging pain in her side.

There was none.

Blood was dripping to the ground as she tried to get up again, but her limbs had no strength left. Her life's blood was slowly sipping away and there was nothing that she or her rider could do to help her, or even ease her pain.

He was a force of nature that could only destroy, not repair. He could dish out and take, but not take away.

"_Maine…" _She weakly told him, gathering all of her energy to speak to him. She knew what would happen to any creature in a rider-dragon bond if one of them passed away. It was a mutually assured death and only the strongest of individuals would survive such a shock…only to slip into insanity moments later. She couldn't have that.

"Aeraleth, hold on," Her human snapped at her and ran his cold, hard gloves over her side.

She couldn't prevent a shiver going down her spine. She felt so very cold…so very cold. She wanted to close her eyes and give in to the torrents of pain and blackness, but she could not. She could not yet leave her rider. But she was so tired.

The urgals were gone. The ground was absolutely littered with their bodies, blood and bodily fluids. Her rider had fought well…and so had she. Together they had bested the beasts…and the shade, for her beloved human was still alive and what remained of her vision was devoid of the dreaded female.

"Look at me!" Maine ordered her. "Stay with me!"

She couldn't keep her eyes open. The pain was slowly seeping away, making place for a warm fuzzy feeling that replaced the cold within her body. Was this what death felt like? If so, it wasn't as terrifying as she had thought it to be.

And then a sharp, bitter sensation spread throughout her chest, originating at the wound where the blade was sticking out of. Her rider was busy pulling the weapon out a few inches, tearing her out of her stupor with new and fresh waves of agony. What was he doing to her?

She felt a trickle of energy seeping into her body, which quickly intensified and became a river. It was coming from her partner-of-mind –he was pouring his energy into her wounded body, trying to preserve her life.

'_Maine…'_ She softly told him. '_Don't…'_ He had wasted enough of his energy already. Ten days walking with barely anything to eat or drink, followed by half day of test and then hours of nonstop battle. That was his life with her and it would kill him if he did not think about himself. He needed to throw his desire to protect all but himself away and think for once. He could not afford to waste the energy to heal a dragon.

But the human ignored her. As the Varden's soldiers around them reorganized, tended to their dead and wounded and cleared the area, her rider sat by her side and fed her a constant trickle of energy that just managed to prevent her from falling over the edge of life and into the maws of death.

She couldn't understand how he did that. He had to have his limits…there was no way for him to be able to keep her alive for so…long? Was it long?

Aeraleth had lost her control over time. She could no longer sense if her rider was keeping her alive for a few minutes or a few hours. All that she knew was the bitter agony in her chest and the dark numbness in her limbs.

Her once so sensitive ears could barely discern anything at that point. Her surroundings had been reduced to a grey blur and faint whispers. She was barely aware of a few humans gathering around them, but they did not approach. Why was that? Where they afraid?

"This will sting," Maine's voice suddenly cut through the tiring silence and fresh explosion of pain sparked through her chest, eliciting a loud roar from deep down her throat. Or at least she thought it to be a loud roar, but all that she heard was a soft and weak growl.

Her rider had pulled the sword out of her chest with one swift movement, drenching the ground with blood that came pouring out of the open wound. But he immediately clasped a hand over her wound and the secure grip prevented any more of her life's source to drip out. The bloodied sword clattered to the ground and the sounds of metal striking stone echoed rather loudly through her skull.

It hurt.

Her rider whispered a few words and the constant flow of energy shifted at his will, turning and shifting and making its way towards her ruined chest-cavity. There it started to expand, pulsing and changing until each and every single tendril was embedded into her flesh. At that point, her flesh started to itch and the burning transferred itself to her blood, making the pain of her injury feel much more urgent, but also strangely lifted.

What was he doing? Was he performing magic on her? After having kept her alive with nothing but the force of his own life? The boy was foolish! He would kill himself!

'_Maine…leave…me be…you must live…'_ She tried to urge him, but even though he had allowed her thoughts to slip into his mind, he did not pay her any mind. Why was he blocking the rest of her mind out? What was he hiding from her?

The Spartan increased the pressure on her chest and she sharply inhaled through her teeth as a new wave of pain crashed into her. He was healing her body, but only at the surface. He was mending her skin and flesh, but ignoring the damage on her insides. Did he not hold enough knowledge to do otherwise? Or was he spending the energy more wisely than she had thought?

"Next time," He told her matter-of-factly without stopping his attempts to repair her, "you will follow my orders. You're no good to me dead."

Aeraleth exhaled softly, feeling her still-beating heart warm with pride and happiness. He wasn't thinking that she was going to die; he solemnly believed that she would live!

She closed her eyes without trying to give in to the darkness again. Her rider had her life in his hands and she didn't want to be protected by anyone else now. He would save her and in turn, she would save him.

The dragoness pledged to herself that she would do better in the future. Had she died, she would have only increased the agony and pain of her rider. Death was not important to him, but she was. He would die before allowing anything to happen to her and by rushing mindlessly into battle, she had insulted his way of combat. She would not dishonor him like that.

She continued to bear the itching feeling of her flesh being mended by the steady flow of magic and patiently tried to establish a new contact with the mind of her rider. He was still blocking her out for some reason…he didn't even dare risk communicating mentally with her. Why was that? Was he afraid of enemy spellcasters? Or was he afraid that he would hurt her?

His energy was consistent and potential: her wound healed faster than she had thought possible and soon, what remained of the deep gash in her body had been reduced to a mere patch of bare flesh. It hurt to breathe, but it would prevent her from bleeding to death.

And that would be enough. Her body could heal on its own after this.

"I closed the wound to prevent further bleeding, but you have considerable internal damage. You need someone more capable to heal you. We need the elf."

That surprised her. Arya hated her Maine and he wasn't so fond of the elf himself. While she had no real quarrel with the elf, she did not like the way she treated her bonded partner. And the soldier never allowed anyone to interfere with something he could do himself, so why would he ask for the help of someone else? Was her condition so dire?

She tried contacting him again and found it easier to do so now that she wasn't plagued by constant agony.

But before she could actually formulate a sentence, her rider started talking again.

"Back off."

What was that? Who was he warning away?

Aeraleth opened her eyes and slowly craned her neck to the side, getting a better view of her surroundings. She was lying on the stone floor, with her tail draped weakly across a few rocks. A thick pool of crimson blood had collided with a larger pool of black fluids, creating a morbidly fascinating image on the floor. Her rider was –again- absolutely coated in the stuff. A few soldiers had finally approached him, but they had their weapons drawn and they smelled of absolute fear.

She heard a metallic click and watched as her rider pointed his smallest weapon at the humans that were his allies. '_Maine…be calm. These are our allies,'_ she warned her rider, thinking that he was confused at their allegiance.

"She's been taken care of. Back off or I will open fire!"

He was giving the soldiers a chance to surrender. That was something new. And judging by their reactions, they weren't as stupid as to ignore that.

They backed off like good little humans.

She lowered her head and spotted a lone, dark figure lying on the ground. Blood stuck to her bare skin and her clothing did not do anything to hide her ample frame from those who beheld her.

Aeraleth growled softly and tried to get to her feet, anger and fear rousing themselves from deep within her heart. The Shade was still alive! She was alive and lying right next to her rider! She needed to save him!

Wait…why was her partner-of-mind guarding the Shade? Had she surrendered to him? And…had he accepted that surrender? Impossible!

'_Maine,' _She told her rider, '_the Shade…is there. Why…is she…?'_

"She's my prisoner," He calmly explained and then rose from his crouched position.

And he wobbled a bit on his feet. That wasn't good.

'_Your…prisoner?'_

He ignored her puzzled remark and then looked down at the prone form of the beaten Shade again. "It worked."

The shade whispered something back and her rider lowered his weapon.

"Let's go then."

'_Maine!'_ She spoke again, trying to make her rider understand the urgency of the situation. Their mortal enemy was right _there_! '_She is evil! You must vanquish her!'_

'_Later,'_ He said back. '_For now, she will be our source of information. Can you move?'_

Aeraleth felt too tired to argue with her rider and instead tried to get her limbs to obey her will. ´_Barely. What now?'_

Her rider did not immediately respond. Instead, he looked down at the ground and clenched his fists. The gesture was…odd. "The urgals are retreating. Eragon is fighting the other shade-"

"Durza is dead," The female shade suddenly spoke. Her voice was completely different form the last time Aeraleth had heard her speak; instead of sounding arrogant or condescending, she now sounded careful and sorrowful. What had changed in the foul creature? Was she biding her time so that she could strike back at Maine or had the spirits inside of her body been broken by his will? "I felt the captured spirits fade away."

"You need a medic."

She understood that her refusing to follow her rider's orders had nearly been her end. And it still could be. She would not disobey him immediately again. Besides; refusing help when it was offered was stupid. '_I agree.´_

Her rider then reached out and grabbed the Shade by her throat, lifting her in the air with ease. "Don't try anything," he barked at her as he set her down and spun around so that he could aim his weapon at the back of her head.

The shade did not reply, but she also didn't throw Maine any dirty looks or other threatening signals. What had changed in her that she could prevent herself from doing that?

Aeraleth groggily rose to her full size and wavered slightly. She had almost no strength left in her limbs, but if her rider needed her to move she would move. She was a dragon, so she should be able to handle it.

'_What did I miss?'_ She asked her rider as the two of them plus the Shade marched towards the dwarf-den. Maine was walking ahead of her, still holding a weapon trained directly at the head of the redheaded female. He was a curious case; his mind felt unlike any of the minds around her. It was not human, not elven and not dwarven. It was completely and utterly strange…but it simply was. It was the mind of her partner-of-heart and she accepted him for who he was.

But she had to admit that he was too strange for her to simply ignore it. Only his speech was human, as he talked in the same language that the other humans spoke and his words lacked the elegance and poetry of that of the elves. The problem was that his body was capable of feats far beyond that of most living beings: he was stronger than Kull, faster than elves and fiercer than dragons. His mind was stuck, fluctuating between feeling like a pond without a single ripple or a great storm in a desert, tearing down entire mountains by simply being near. He did not make sense –he was impossible.

As Aeraleth watched the soldier move, another issue rose in her still-sleepy mind. He was always wearing his armour in battle. Now she hadn't ever felt how heavy plates around her body felt, but she could imagine that it wasn't really comfortable. Yet he managed to move with uncanny elegance, as if the armour was a part of his body.

Well…until recently. He still retained most of that inhuman elegance, but his movements were less fluid. More jerky and chaotic.

"Durza died. The urgals fled. The Varden won."

She snorted weakly. And a moment later she wished she hadn't done so, as a new spike of pain racked her body. '_And the Shade? How did you best her?'_

"No idea," Maine replied as he kept his gaze aimed at his prisoner, "mentally."

He sounded…off. Distracted .His movements were jerky, his mind was shielded and his words were not enough to convey a message. Was he wounded?

'_Maine, what has happened to you?'_ She asked him carefully. '_Are you wounded?'_

"Nothing worth noting."

'_There is a thin line between stupidity and bravery,'_ She thought to herself, '_and he walks it every day.'_

The three of them made their way into Tronjheim, where there were only more scared humans and dwarves waiting for then. None of them were willing to let the Shade go through their ranks, yet none of them possessed enough bravery to try and stop her.

It was as if they knew that Maine would kill them all if they dared to oppose them.

'_Can you smell Saphira?' _Her rider asked her eventually, when they arrived at a split in the city.

She sniffed the air and caught the familiar musky smell of the blue dragon. It was stronger to their left. '_She is to our left,'_ she explained.

Saphira was also a curious case. Her rider was nothing special, but the dragon was. She was Aeraleth's elder when it came to age and experience, but she still treated her like an equal. Aeraleth liked that about the dragon. The only problem was that Saphira openly hated and feared Maine, which would probably get in their way in the future.

But for now, she longed to be with the blue dragoness. Her presence would assure her that things would be alright again and who knew; perhaps Saphira knew how to deal with strange riders.

Maine eventually reached a door guarded by six dwarves. All of them assumed a hostile position when seeing the shade, but they relaxed when they saw that the monstrous female was closely followed by the armoured rider and his dragon.

They banged their spears on the ground and then opened the giant door, which was large enough for Aeraleth to enter without too much hardship.

The dwarves growled and muttered and pointed their weapons at the shade, but dared not to attack her and soon, they had passed them.

The door closed behind them with a heavy sound and Maine told her to stick close.

She agreed to his wish and looked around. They were currently inside of a very large cavernous room, large enough for her to walk around unhindered. As she had expected, Saphira was resting at the far end of the room, with her head inside the only opening in the wall. That had to be where the other races whose smell she had caught on a whim were residing.

When the door closed, the blue dragon jumped to attention and pulled her head out, growling loudly while she did.

'_Be at ease, sister of mine, '_ she told Saphira. '_The Shade is our prisoner. My rider has her under control.'_

'_Are you aware of the damage they can wreak young one?'_ Saphira replied, her anger looming in the back of her mind like a great thundercloud. '_My rider has nearly been killed by the one named Durza.'_

She inhaled sharply when she heard that. She did not neccesarily like Eragon, but she didn't dislike him either. And she knew that he meant the world to Saphira. '_What has happened?'_

'_Durza had him trapped. Arya and I were able to shatter the dwarves' crystal, but the Shade laid his back open with his weapon. An ally has barely managed to heal him.'_

Maine was unaware of the conversation that was going on between them and boldly stepped forwards, dragging the shade along by her neck without noticing that she offered zero resistance.

He was walking straight towards Saphira, who had a hard time deciding who she hated more at that moment.

'_Maine, be careful,' _She told her rider and crawled deeper into the room. '_I am sorry to hear that. My rider might also be wounded, but I do not know for sure. He hides from me.' _She then continued talking to Saphira.

Saphira cocked her head to the side and eyed the armoured human while he moved towards her. '_Why would he do that?'_ She asked.

'_I know not.'_

The blue dragon stood rigid for a few seconds before moving aside, allowing the Spartan and his captive to enter the small room that smelled of elf, dwarf and human. '_You were wounded young one. What happened to you?'_

'_I was foolish. I tried to defend my rider from the grey-horned beasts and paid with my blood. One of them struck a lethal blow…I only survived because of my rider.'_

The blue dragon snorted loudly. ´_And now he has captured a shade?'_

'_Yes. It is curious why he allows the abomination to survive. But I follow his choices.'_

Aeraleth breathed in deeply and tried to ignore the shoots of pain that followed immediately after doing so. She clenched the powerful muscles in her chest and winced as the hurt didn't go away.

'_Your rider is a strange one. How did he capture the Shade?'_

She lowered her head in shame. ´_I do not know, I was…distracted.'_

The two dragons watched as Maine and Raia walked into the side-room and subsequently unleash a storm of outrage.

Saphira hummed with amusement while she watched the small entry intently. '_I do not think he thought his actions through.'_

She couldn't disagree with her.

~0~

The Spartan jabbed the shade with the end of his gun and forced her to keep walking, entering the room before him. He should have killed her as soon as he had beaten her, but she was a hub of Intel and murdering the one source of information on the activities of your enemy was one of the easier ways to lose a war.

The Shade had proved her value by telling him the words he needed to heal Aeraleth. The dragoness had been wounded beyond his ability to patch up with simply a pressure-pad and some encouraging words. He had attempted to stop her from dying from the internal damage by feeding her his own energy, but the wound was too deep for him to prevent from killing the dragon. He had needed to focus his energy on healing her instead of replenishing her energy, but without the proper magical words to do so he had been stuck.

And then the Shade –Raia- had whispered the words he needed to use, opening a new road for him to take. Of course he had been hesitant to use the advice of an enemy, but after having hold on to his partner for more than five minutes without any positive outcome clear to him, he had gotten somewhat desperate. And while the words themselves might have been meant as a trap, he had charged them with a different meaning. It had allowed him to heal Aeraleth's wounds on the surface, preventing her from bleeding out.

After everything that had transpired, he had lacked both the energy and inspiration to completely heal Aeraleth. The Shade had done something during their fight, linking his mind with hers and forcing him to relive several memories that he hadn't thought about for a while. At the same level, he had managed to press the attack on the mind of the Shade and forced her to give up her spoils as well, throwing her own memories into the fray and creating even more chaos.

Aeraleth's deep wounds, combined with the previous battle-haze in his mind, had made it hard for him to concentrate. He was certain that Raia had eventually used magic at some point, but the effects were vague at best. At times, his vision would blur and his legs would weaken, but he could focus enough to bite through it. The only consequent effects of the energetic change in the fight were a deep nausea, trembling limbs and a very hot internal temperature inside of his suit, despite the meters pointing out that it was cold.

He had to admit that he was starting to feel weaker. The long-lasting fight with the urgals, various wounds that Aeraleth had suffered through and the mental warfare that he had been forced to fight in were all things he could take without too much trouble…but keeping a dragon alive for several minutes with nothing but his own life-force before actually healing her had taken its toll on his body.

But he could still walk and should the need arise, he could also defend the shade from any attempts on her life.

But the doorway ahead was a tad too small for Aeraleth and he was forced to leave her behind with Saphira, who had allowed him and the Shade to pass without too much trouble.

The Spartan and the Shade entered the small room where the rest of the warriors he knew were waiting. It was a small, medical room where all kinds of herbs and other plants were hanging from the roof. The interior of the room was dominated by all kinds of small chairs, beds and chests. Eragon was sitting upright in one bed, conversing with the taller male called Murtagh. The elf was watching them from a distance and a different woman was standing there. She had medium-length, blond hair and deep blue eyes, shrouded by make-up that gave her an exotic look. Her body was clad in green and black armor that appeared to be metal instead of leather and a red cape was garbed over her shoulders. Like most females, her armour wasn't thick or well-plated, still looking more like leather than any sort of metal.

Raia the shade entered the room and Eragon just happened to glance at her direction. His eyes grew wide with fear and he jerked upright, clumsily reaching for a sword. Arya immediately noticed his distress and spun around, pulling her sword out with one smooth movement.

"Hold up," he called and stepped in front of the Shade, holding out a hand as a sign to Arya that she needed to back off.

She didn't. The elf slashed at the Shade, who made no impression that she was going to dodge the blow. In the time that it took Arya to spot and attack Raia, Murtagh and the other woman only barely managed to turn around.

But he was still much faster. He dashed forwards and caught the blade on his left arm, which rebounded off of the hard armour with a sharp 'twang', draining ten percent of his shields.

Then he whirled his arm around her hand, pinning the sword to the side while he brought his other hand to her stomach, pressing his fingers against her stomach to let her know that he had her outmaneuvered.

"Relax," He told the elf, who stared at him with a downright furious expression. Her strength was comparable to that of Raia. "She's a prisoner now."

Arya's scowl intensified, but she still disengaged from him with careful movements. "Are you a fool, Spartan? Bringing that thing in here with us? With Eragon?"

He frowned. "Gathering Intel is as important as winning a battle."

Murtagh yelled with surprise when he saw what was going on and pulled out his sword too, but the blond woman merely stared at the Spartan with amusement.

"Shades are evil!" Eragon cried out, "You can't trust one to keep any promise!"

Raia's expression remained neutral and unchanged, but her voice betrayed her annoyance as she spoke. "And Shades are always destructive and violent, yet one managed to command an army to lay waste to the Varden."

He turned to face the redheaded woman. "Shut up," Then he looked back at Eragon. "We need her for information. If you want to win this thing, you will need as much as you can get."

"This rider speaks with wisdom," The exotic human replied, still looking amused and still keeping a close eye on Raia. "Greetings, new one. My name is Angela. I have not seen you before, have I?"

"No," He replied and walked closer to the bed where the wounded Eragon was lying. The kid was inexperienced, naïve and recently hurt. He wouldn't be able to give him a proper report.

So he turned to the one called Murtagh. "What's the situation?" He demanded while looking around. Both Murtagh and Arya were bandaged; the human around his head and the elf on her arm.

"Ehm…I…" The male hesitated, but the blonde woman quickly took over.

"Straight to the point now, are we? Very well. Eragon killed the Shade called Durza, but was wounded while doing so. Arya and Saphira rescued him in time and the ranks of the urgals broke."

He nodded and looked around again. Arya and Murtagh both looked angry for some reason, while Eragon looked shaken and upset. He had been wounded…yet his torso and his head were clear of any wounds. Where had he been hit? Jabbed on the hips, slashed at the arms?

The Spartan walked past the woman and took a look at the back of the kid. A thick, ropy scar started on his right shoulder, running down until the bed obscured it. Eragon quickly clasped a hand over his back, but the soldier had seen enough. A sword had laid his back open and judging by the pattern and direction of the scar, it ended at his hip. The kid might have slain the Shade, but he had paid a nasty price for it.

He turned around again and a wave of dizziness overcame him. He resisted the urge to shake his head and looked around to spot a place where he could sit down.

There was no such place for him. First he needed to think about their next step. If they were smart, they would rout the urgals while they were retreating. But the very first thing that had the priority was finding a way to lock the shade up. She could kill any normal man and woman who tried to stop her, so only an elf or a dragon could stop her.

Which meant that she had to follow him everywhere he went. He had not thought it through very well. Oh well.

He pulled out his sidearm again and aimed it at the head of the Shade, who immediately stepped back. Everyone tensed up again as the two of them moved. "Time to live up to the deal," He told her.

"You realize the extent of your choice now, Spartan?" The woman called Angela asked him. How did she know that name? "A shade cannot easily be convinced to change sides. At the earliest convenient time, she will break out and murder again. And that will be on your head."

"Hundreds of people died because the Varden's leadership lacked the will to attain information," He crudely replied, "that will change today."

He half expected someone to call him out on his words again, but thankfully they kept their mouths shut.

"My deal was with you and you only, rider," Raia calmly told him. "I shall answer your questions, but only when we are without others."

The Shade had told him the words he needed to save Aeraleth. In a way, _she_ was the reason that the dragon was still alive. He hated that. He really should have killed her but…she had proven to be useful and at the very least trustworthy. The sickening pain that had coursed through his body at that moment had proven to him just how feeble and strange the link with Aeraleth was. Had she died, his mind would have collapsed due to the shock.

"Why do you trust a shade?" Eragon asked softly. "Do you not know that she will attempt to stab you in the back at the first moment she can?"

"Humans," Raia replied sharply, her voice assuming a very venomous tone, "consistently betray each other. I keep my word when I give it."

The Spartan remembered a certain memory of hers, where a bunch of town-guards had attacked her for her appearance alone. She was bitter against humans for the way they treated her. Why wasn't she as bitter against him? Because of his own memories?

"That is impossible," Arya softly said. "Shades are vile and cruel creatures, incapable of understanding loyalty. Durza's reason for following Galbatorix had to have been one of dark ones only."

That was as flawed a form of logic as any.

"What exactly did you promise the Shade in return for her…questionable services?" Angela asked him. It looked like she was the only one that was even willing to consider letting the Shade live. "I can barely consider the consequences of an unholy alliance between a rider as yourself and a Shade. It would be most…unpleasant if one were to do such a thing without thinking it through."

This was going in the wrong direction. He needed the Varden as an ally, but he also needed Raia, if only for information. He needed to give them a valid reason to trust him, or this would go south very quick. "She taught me how to heal Aeraleth."

That caught them by surprise. Eragon and Murtagh both exclaimed a cry of disbelief and Arya frowned deeply. Angela smiled. "The Shade, telling you how to heal your dragon? What, did she teach you magic words?"

"Yes," He replied uncomfortably. He still lacked knowledge of the affairs of this world, it appeared. "I let her live, she gives us Intel."

"That leaves us one big problem though," Angela then cheerfully said, as if everything was one big joke to her. "What does she want in return?"

Raia took the sentence as aimed at her and replied to the woman before anyone could speak up first. "I wish to be done with this war, started by humans and elves. I wish to return to the one important to me and wait it out."

The one important to her. Her mistress? The woman powerful enough to work with a Shade? But that one was working with the king too…wasn't she?

"And who would that be, if not Galbatorix himself?" Murtagh asked with suspicion. "Your words hold nothing for us to trust in."

"Shades hold no important ones. She is attempting to trick us," Eragon added.

"There are only three options that lie before us now," Angela then stated and sat down on a chair. "The Shade must be killed…the Shade must be captured using an extremely advanced method of magic…or the Shade must swear loyalty to Spartan, for he should be the one responsible for her."

"What would that change?" He skeptically asked the woman. What use had a promised word for a creature that was supposed to break every word?

"In the Ancient Language, of course," she added.

He waited for her to give some follow-up explanation, but the missing pieces of the puzzle soon started to fill in the blanks. Magic existed and was used by talking in the ancient language. If someone were to promise something in that language, would it become a magical bond?

He needed to verify it. "I don't understand."

Angela sighed explosively and sat down on one of the chairs, her blonde hair circling around her head as she did so. "I take it you know even less than Eragon does when it concerns magic?"

"Hey!" The kid replied, but nobody but Arya paid him mind.

"You cannot lie in the ancient language," The woman then explained as she plucked a few herbs from the wall. "It's why magic is possible. Most binding oaths are made in the Ancient Language, because they cannot be broken. Twisted with the right mindset, of course, but not broken. The only way for your Shade to assure her loyalty is to make her swear it."

'_Aeraleth?'_ He contacted his partner, '_What do you think?'_

'_I think that she could be a dreadful and powerful ally, if we were to attain her full loyalty. But I also think it to be impossible. Such is not the nature of a Shade.'_

"You said you wanted to be gone from this war," Angela then told the Shade, but the Spartan interrupted her.

"Do it," He told Raia. His head was pounding, his vision was constantly blurring and his stomach felt like it had been torn apart and nailed back together. All in all he was having difficulty in standing upright. He wanted this mess over with; he wanted to leave all these stupid people and retreat to the watchtower, where he would grab an hour of rest before flushing the remaining urgals out of their tunnels. He didn't want to kill the Shade, as she was too important. He didn't want her captured, as she would break free. He wanted her bound to him by her word, forced and compelled by magic as he was bound to Aeraleth.

"Now, just wait a moment-" Angela then warned them, suddenly sounding anxious.

Her worries were not important.

Raia nodded and then seemed to concentrate for a few seconds, before she spoke up with new clarity in her voice. "I want to return to the one important to me. I hold no allegiance to the empire…but neither do I care what happens in this war. I shall follow only you."

"Deal," He replied. If she followed him, she would be bound without any risk at leaving. That would leave him free to interrogate her.

"I had never thought to see a Shade promise fealty," Murtagh whispered.

"Eka weohnata tauthr thornessa Shur'tugal eom älfrs wyda, orono pömnuria ebrithil," Raia then said with calm confidence, her voice leaving shivers running down the Spartan's spine. A strange echo followed each and every word and when she was done speaking, the room was shrouded in a deafening silence that was much worse than the pleasant silences he had caused before. "I will follow this rider to his fate or my master," She then clarified. Her oath in the Ancient Language sounded…powerful, for a lack of different words.

'_Did you just force a Shade to swear fealty to you?'_ Aeraleth asked.

"You are a very intriguing person, Spartan," Angela then told him. "I take it you are not willing to share your secrets?"

He ignored her remark and turned to face Raia. "What does this mean to you?"

He heard Murtagh and Eragon whispering in the background and Arya exchanging a few words with Angela. He also deemed them unimportant to him.

"It means that I will follow you to the point where I can rejoin my master," Raia calmly explained.

She wanted him dead an hour ago. What had changed in her? The so-called intimate sharing of their memories? Or the absolute beatdown he had laid down? He didn't trust her either way.

"And if I order you away beforehand?" He asked.

"I do not know. I would require specific and important orders for that."

"And when will you stab me in the back?" He then asked her, growing tired of her attempts to dodge the most important question at that moment. "Or will you find a different way to twist your words?"

"You misinterpret my words, rider," Raia softly replied. Whenever she looked at Arya or Eragon or even Angela, her expression would assume a hateful quality. But for some reason, that hate and…disgust…at the other people…seemed to disappear when she looked at him instead. Something truly had changed between them, but what? And why? "I wish to elaborate on my oath…somewhere else."

The Spartan nodded, understanding her desire to be away from the people that did not understand a thing. If he had to choose between the Shade and the other combatants, he would rather choose the Shade than anyone else. He had virtually nothing that made him relate to Arya, Eragon or Murtagh. He didn't know them, he didn't care for them and he didn't want to have anything to do with them. But at least he had something that linked him with Raia; she Shade might have been his enemy for some time, but she had surrendered and even sworn an oath to him. In a way, that made her his responsibility.

…no, that _did _make her his responsibility. He had really not through all of this through.

"Why are you here Spartan?" Arya then sharply asked him before he could leave.

He cursed softly under his breath and turned to face the elf. The truth was that he had originally came to get a check on the situation, find out what had happened and then enlist Arya to help heal his dragon. But now…he wasn't too sure whether he should be telling these people any more than he had already told them. He had basically lost their trust with bringing Raia to them.

'_You do not need to continue little soldier,'_ Aeraleth suddenly spoke to him in the back of his mind. Her voice was soft, strained and pained, but that didn't mean he couldn't understand her. '_I can heal on my own. Arya's help is not needed.'_

He sent her a silent 'thank you' and then answered the question. "To check up on the situation."

"Where were you during the fight then?" Murtagh angrily asked him, still keeping a close eye on the Shade. "You come here, bring a Shade as you prisoner and then force her to swear an oath? Who are you to hold such power!"

"Not only that, but you have taken an egg that nobody even knew existed and made it hatch! Nobody can do that to the king and live!" Eragon added.

"I would like to know as well. Your entire presence is wrong," Arya then spoke up too.

He saw Angela smiling in satisfaction and he heard Raia scowling with anger. It was time for these people to hear the truth –and with the truth, he really meant a twisted and partial truth.

The Spartan straightened his back. "I am Two-Sierra zero-zero-seven, a Spartan assigned to and last survivor of the UNSC When Duty Ends."

His response puzzled the humans and elf even more. He could see Eragon throwing a confused glance at Murtagh, who shrugged in response. Arya's scowl lifted and made place for a mild surprise, while Angela seemed to frown for once.

'_Those are a lot of numbers in your name, ´_ Aeraleth told him. ´_Are there more of you?'_

'_Yes,'_ he replied.

"You told us that your name was Spartan," Eragon asked, "but now you use that name as if it were a group like the Varden. And where did you even come from? Are you not from Alagaesia?"

"I came from the stars," he replied impatiently and then turned around to leave. While doing so, he heard Angela gasping in shock and dropping some stone item that she had grabbed during their conversation. Her response was of no consequence to him and neither was the animosity between him and the other warriors.

Raia followed him without hesitation while he walked away and he spotted Saphira sitting on the floor, unmoving like a statue and staring at him with her bright, blue eyes. She had probably overheard his conversation with the rest of the group and she also probably shocked by it.

Aeraleth also got to her feet and moved after him, adding a dragon to his list of feral female followers. He had to admit that he was slightly curious to the oath that Raia had sworn to him; why she had done it and what it compelled her to do. She had been more than openly hostile towards him…

While the Spartan made his way through Tronjheim, navigating the many tunnels and rooms without trouble, he felt another wave of dizziness and nausea washing over him. What was wrong with him? What had changed? Why was he having so much difficulty walking straight?

He managed to make it to the large watchtower, where he and Aeraleth could rest without being disturbed. The fight was over and if the Varden could last without Eragon, Saphira and Arya, they could also last without him. There were dead and wounded soldiers everywhere and for the moment, the battle had been put on a major hold.

And as the Spartan stumbled up the stairs to the large room while Aeraleth flew in from above, his lungs were starting to ache too. It was if the air had grown stale, making it hard for him to breathe. Raia awkwardly stayed behind while he moved upstairs.

'_Maine? What is wrong?'_ His dragon asked.

He ignored her remark and leant against the wall as his legs nearly gave away underneath him. Something was very wrong indeed, but he had no clue as to what had caused it. Was this an overuse of magic? Or had something else happened? Had Raia done this?

He grunted and brought his hands to his helmet, fumbling with the neck-seal until he released it, allowing the grey piece of equipment to be removed.

With his helmet in his hands he took in few large gulps of air, slowly regaining his senses.

Aeraleth was watching him keenly, her sharp yellow eyes aimed directly at his face. It didn't really occur to the Spartan that this was the first time that the dragon had seen his face, but what did occur to him was that it had been more than ten days since he had last really taken care of himself. He needed food, water and rest.

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed softly. He also needed to cut his hair and shave.

'_You are ill, yes?'_ The dragon asked.

"Don't know," He replied and sat down on a nearby rock, brandishing his combat knife while doing so. With his bonded partner watching him, he started cutting his dark hair off. It had grown a few inches since he had last donned his helmet and it was longer than the standard regulation allowed. He couldn't have that.

Aeraleth was amused by watching him. '_Longer hair suits you better.'_

When he was done fixing his hair back to its regular size, he started on his facial hair. He didn't really have a beard or moustache, but it had definitely grown to an undesirable size during his time in Alagaesia.

'_Now you have a Shade under your command,'_ Aeraleth said, '_what will you do with her?'_

He slowly ran the edge of his knife down his cheek, cutting off the larger hairs while flattening the smaller ones. He didn't know what was going to happen after the Varden had beaten the urgals, but he did know that they would have to eventually take the fight to the empire. That meant gathering allies…meeting up with the elves and perhaps other races and enlist them in the war.

But even if the future of the war was clear to him, the nearby future was still vague and blurry. Raia had promised her loyalty with magic, but that loyalty was questionable at best. She was an individual with the strength and durability of a Hunter, ferocity of a brute and tactical mind of an Elite. It was clear to him that she was a magical creature; unbound by mortal laws.

She could be an asset…but there was a greater risk of her being a liability. A liability that needed to be controlled carefully. He had never thought about the consequences of actually keeping the Shade around d. Other people did not trust her and neither did he trust her. But he was probably the only one who could keep her under control and he was all too familiar with the destructive abilities that she possessed.

"Have her spill the Intel she has on the empire and magic," He replied and reached for his helmet again. He felt weak, nauseous and very tense. Things were _not _going according to plan. "Control her somehow. Use her at the front lines. She did save you, so she can be important."

'_Not true!´_ Aeraleth replied with shock, sounding absolutely horrified at the mere thought of owning her life to a Shade. ´_It was you who nearly died to keep me alive! Your energy and your magic mended my wounds!´_

"She told me the words. When it was obvious that I couldn't save you, she told me the words to heal."

'_But…but…´ _Aeraleth went silent again. It was obvious that the dragon was still hurting from her wound, as evident by her still strained and weak voice. And it was obvious that she couldn't stand the fact that she had been saved by a Shade. It was an emotional problem that he wasn't burdened by. The end result was that Aeraleth was alright and not dead, the means justified the end.

The Spartan placed his helmet back on his head and closed his eyes briefly. He felt dizzy and sick and his head hurt. He could still feel the painful throbbing of the chest-wound that his partner had recieved, but that was the least of his problems.

'_You do not show your face very often, do you?'_ His partner then asked him eventually, starting a new subject.

"No," He allowed the dragon to change the sensitive subject. He should really grab some R&R and prepare for coming fights. He could flush out the remaining urgals later, as the Varden had a huge advantage in morale and position now that they had turned the horned hostiles around. But he couldn't sleep yet, as he didn't trust the Shade too much.

'_Why not?'_

He started to answer the dragoness, thought better of it and then contacted her mentally, cutting out the risk of magical eavesdroppers. Raia had stayed behind to give him some privacy –at least that was what he thought her cover was- but her oath still left open a lot of holes for her to initiate hostilities. '_Protection.'_

She sighed; a rumbling sensation that shook the tower. '_Ouch,'_ she softly stated when she felt the effects of that deep sigh. '_And I don't really think you need protection. The stray arrow might hit you, or-'_

'_Bullets. Plasma. Explosives,'_ He quickly counted out.

Aeraleth blinked slowly. '_Excuse me? What?'_

And then he spent the next few minutes carefully explaining to Aeraleth what he meant; what weapons he had encountered in the war. Throughout his explanation, the dragon slowly lowered herself to the stone floor and closed her eyes. She consistently insisted that she wasn't tired and he was less and less intent on believing her. It wasn't every day that you were skewered in the chest by a sword…unless you were a Spartan of course.

'_And an explosion is a sudden release of energy and heat, resulting in burns and dismemberment.'_

'_And you…carry devices that can release such intense energy?'_ Aeraleth asked him.

He brandished a fragmentation grenade and showed it to her. '_I activate the explosive charge with the button, throw it and the weapon –called a grenade- explodes, showering the enemy with shrapnel.'_

'_Shrapnel?'_

'_Fragments of hot, high-speed metal that penetrate armour, flesh and bone.'_

'_So technically,'_ the dragon then tried to make sense of his information, '_you have an energy-filled item that shoots your enemies for you? Just like your…guns?'_

'_What the blast doesn't kill, the shrapnel does.'_

'_That seems a very easy method to kill…lots of enemies…'_ Aeraleth then weakly stated and exhaled a puff of smoke, her breath slowing.

'_Aeraleth, how copy?'_ He asked the dragon, seeing how she was losing her concentration.

No reply.

'_Aeraleth, you there?'_

No response. Curious.

The Spartan walked over to the dragoness and placed a hand on her flank, checking if she was still breathing.

Her sides were steadily rising and falling and she wasn't bleeding anywhere. She was probably still weakened from her wounds. But her condition was troublesome; if she couldn't defend herself when a situation arose, they could run into some serious opposition. He would need to find a way to overcome that…

The Spartan heard the faint rubbing of fabric against stone and snapped his rifle up to the right, aiming at the entryway where only humanoids could enter from.

In the doorway stood Raia, clad in her fetishistic leather outfit and her black sword hanging at her hip.

"Rider," She greeted him courteously. Her voice sounded different from the last time he had heard her speaking, in the company of elves and humans. Back then, it had been filled with suppressed anger and malice. Now, it sounded…not filled with suppressed anger and malice. Or less so.

He ignored her greeting and lowered his rifle again.

Raia probably took that as permission to enter, as she blatantly walked in and inspected the sleeping Aeraleth. "I wished to further explain the oath I have sworn to you."

The Spartan felt like he was too messed up to understand an explanation at that point, but he still focused his attention on the Shade and listened to her. Any signs of weakness would give her incentive to strike and he had not gone through all that trouble of sparing her life just to kill her later. "Shoot."

She nodded and sat down on a nearby rock. The watchtower's top part had a cylinder-like form, with a small staircase leading to a few portholes at the top, from where soldiers could fire arrows…or snipe. The curious design allowed for a dragon to sleep with its tail curled around its body and at least twenty humans to stand in the middle with it.

As long as the dragon wasn't too big.

The Shade watched him intently as she spoke. "I do not think you are very familiar with magic and the laws of the Ancient Language. Am I correct?"

He nodded slowly. He had no clue as to how magic worked or how it was possible for him to speak telepathically to a dragon. Normally, he would have dismissed the things he had seen as biological weapons and science. But after having performed feats impossible even for a Spartan –lifting more than a hundred spent casings and using them as new bullets with just his mind- he had lost his skepticism somewhat.

"Then you do not understand that a promise in this language cannot be broken."

"What happens if you break it?"

"I cannot. It is impossible to lie when I speak in it. If I tried to tell you that I am human, the Language would stop the words in my mouth."

So if she promised to not die and he shot her? Would that count? Or if she promised to not fire a weapon and he forced her to pull the trigger? No…she would have promised that _she _wouldn't fire a weapon and if he forced her to, it would actually be him, not her. But the concept was interesting. "But you can circumvent."

"Correct. And I am here to prevent you from thinking that I would harm you…or your partner. When I made my oath, I was thinking of two possible outcomes. With your 'fate', I meant the end of your journey. Whether that would be victory or defeat…or change."

"You told me that your master wanted a rider for herself. I can't let you rejoin her."

Raia's eyebrows narrowed. "Understand that, when the time is there, I must."

That was not going to happen. "These people think you will kill them all at the first chance."

She eyed him anew; her gaze ran up and down his armour and rested on his chestplate. It looked like a refusal to meet his eyes. "And you?"

"I can't risk that. I can't be around you forever."

"I promised to follow you. That can include orders."

So she had accepted him as her superior officer? He needed to test that first. "You will follow my orders?"

"Yes. I understood that you would not…abuse my loyalty."

"And if I ordered you to tell me who your master is?"

"That would conflict with more…binding oaths…I have made to her. Nevertheless, I could give out information that I would otherwise have not. Is this acceptable?"

"We'll see. Information?"

"Yes. My mistress does not truly serve the king; she's is one of the few people powerful enough to defy the king, if not the only one. Even he would not cross her without reason."

"What is she?"

"A person. Whether she is Shade, elf or human I do not know anymore. But I know that her power is on almost equal terms to the king."

He remembered a few of Raia's memories; how she had struggled with the spirits holding a grip over her for four hours before succumbing…how she had still retained her memories and personality instead of being rewritten like others. How the guards had attacked her without any provocation on her side, forcing her to kill them in retaliation and fleeing. A normal Shad could not be trusted, but this one wasn't exactly normal. "What makes you different from Durza?"

Her expression eased up and the faint, pained expression in her eyes softened. It was as if she was longing for something. "She saved me. My mistress prevented my consciousness from being burned out by the spirits seeking to harm me. It allowed me to continue living as me, instead of a collective consciousness. It was the ultimate mercy."

Spirits…he had heard that word a few times already. "What are spirits? How are Shades made?"

She sighed and lowered her gaze again. Her right hand slowly reached out to her side, while the other one clenched. It made her look vulnerable.

She didn't answer him directly.

"Answer me."

Her head snapped up when he raised his voice, as if he had scared her. "A spirit is…a name mortals have given to a race of incorporeal beings they cannot understand. They are the source of power for sorcerers and very hard to bend to your will. I…a Shade is made when these spirits possess a living being, where they…destroy what made that person a person. Their body gets twisted…and their mind will be forever gone."

"How did your…mistress…save you?"

The memory of her important person seemed to comfort Raia. She allowed her arms to relax and her voice lost the strained trait that it had assumed. "I can barely comprehend her powers at best. She purged the spirits from my mind."

"Did you summon those spirits?"

And then she lowered her head and looked away again. People that didn't control their emotions were so easy to read. He could already guess what had happened to her. "I did not. Someone else sought to create a Shade, to create havoc and chaos. I was used as a sacrifice."

"What happened to that person?" Maine asked the pained Shade mercilessly, forcing her to relive what had happened so that he could get a better idea of what he was dealing with. If her emotions were genuine, he might just be able to trust her. If she faked them, he couldn't.

"I killed his underlings…but he escaped me. To this day, I have met with no success in trying to find him."

Fair enough. "You said your master wants a rider for herself. Why?"

"I do not understand her reasons and neither do I judge them."

He raised his eyebrow upon hearing that. "The king has set his eyes on Eragon."

Raia nodded, immediately understanding the problem he was pointing out. "Two riders…two people to control them. One has been chosen by the king…leaving you to my mistress. She will seek to capture you now."

A female with enough power to purge beings that had enough power to purge the human mind was after him? '_That will be fun,´_ He thought bitterly and closed his eyes. Lances of pain shot up and down his chest, but he ignored those. Raia had proven to be trustworthy…enough. For the moment.

"And," The Shade then added, "my loyalty to you and her both will prevent me from interfering. When the two of you face off, my oaths won't allow me to pick a side. Might I ask a question now?"

"Granted," He told her without really thinking about it.

"What will happen to me now? The Varden hates me for what I am...and so does your dragon."

He nodded, understanding the problem. To him, Raia was an asset. A fallen and defected opponent that could be used to gain information. To Aeraleth and the Varden, she was a monster. A person that had attempted to do terrible things. They wouldn't trust her…but they hadn't seen his reasons.

And they didn't trust him either.

"We got off easy for now," He explained, "but once Ajihad or Nasuada hear from this, they will object. I won't let them hurt you."

Raia bowed to him, her red hairs waving around her pale face as she did so. "Your words humble me."

Why? He had only declared that he deemed her survival too important. That would insult most people.

"Nevertheless," Raia then said, "I cannot accompany you everywhere. Eventually, you will be taken to the elves for training."

"What?" He snapped, focusing on the last part of her sentence. Taken? Elves? Training?

The Shade blinked in surprise at his sudden increase in volume, but he did not otherwise faze her. "My mistress has told me this. Riders are trained with the elves…and after a few weeks of normal training, they and their juvenile dragon will be taken to their forest of Du Weldenwarden. Did they not tell you this?"

A stab of anger ran through his stomach and for a moment, he felt the desire to punch something. But he banished that foolish thought as soon as it came and tried to calm down again. "No," He hesitantly replied. He did not need training, he did not need to meet the elves and he did not need to be taken by anyone. All he needed was to march into the middle of the empire, murder the king and then overthrow their system. In the meantime, he could either run into something that would enable him to connect to the UNSC, or someone of the UNSC would run into him.

Raia sighed and crossed her arms. "I see. I could be wrong though; that information can be questionable at best. But if you go to the elves-"

"I will _not_ go to the elves," He growled at the redheaded woman. He had _better_ things to do!"

"_If_ you go," she clarified, "I cannot accompany you. Not all the way. I will have to split up eventually."

"What if you encounter your mistress again?" He asked her, allowing himself to be distracted.

"I would rejoin her. But that chance is not very high. She does not travel among the people very often."

The Spartan decided that, should the need arise, he would order the Shade to undermine the empire in some other way.

"I think I understand why you do not wish to seek out the elves," the woman then carefully told him.

He ignored that comment.

"But…forgive my insolence…I do agree with their reasoning."

"…explain yourself," he ordered her.

"I will. Your partner of mind and body…the dragon…she is still young. She needs to grow and learn and adapt. For her own safety…evidenced by the recent battle…she still needs to mature."

Raia had some good points. He hated that…but he had been unable to protect Aeraleth. If there were more Shades, or hostile elves or even Kull, he couldn't focus on both his dragon and them at the same time. She needed to learn to fend for herself at one point.

"And," the redhead continued, "you must learn how to control your magic. You used it to great effect, but you could have killed yourself with healing her. Without proper understanding of the ways of magic, you will end up harming yourself to a degree even you cannot withstand."

Again, a good point. But this time, there was something wrong with her statement. He could learn for himself –improvise, experiment and adapt. He didn't need to be taught like a child. "I don't need the elves."

"There is no 'one else gifted enough to teach you."

He looked up and looked at the Shade´s eyes. "You can teach me."

"Me?" Raia replied with shock, gesturing with her hand at her chest. "I am no teacher. I only know dark magic…and I don't think you trust me enough yet."

"Better than people I never met before," He replied. He would much rather not be taught at all, but Aeraleth needed experience that could only be granted through time. And she needed to be larger too.

"Perhaps you should think this through…" Raia softly replied. "I will guard the entrance of this structure until you want to move again."

The message behind that was clear enough and this time, he wouldn't ignore something like that. He couldn't keep working without rest: sleep was as dangerous a weapon as any gun was. And he knew when to push his limits and when to take an opportunity to rest and recover. Simply keeping on working when there was a clear chance to rest was foolish and dangerous; he needed to be rested and focused for the coming fights…and he had to think about a lot of tough decisions.

The Spartan moved to a darker spot, slid down the wall and closed his eyes again. It was time to have a nice little chat with Ajihad concerning the future…in roughly six to seven hours.

~0~

"_Ehm…captain? I have a report from one of our passing patrols."_

"_Well, don't keep me waiting too long kid! What is it?"_

"_Sir, a group of cavalrymen were found dead not too long ago. Their horses were stolen."_

"…_who would attack a group of horseback-soldiers without killing their steeds? No, don't answer that! Warn the guards to keep an eye out and contact the nearest city! Move it!"_

Unidentified officer and spearman, approximately twelve days after incursion of UNSC asset 2S-007

~0~

_Sorry for the delay, my deadlines are approaching rapidly. Just a few more weeks and I will be a dead man…or a happy man. _

_Who else can't wait for our wayward Spartan to meet the elves?_


	10. Fickle loyalty

_**Ww1990ww: **__his patience-reserves are low indeed._

_**The Lone Swordswolf: **__well, Carvahall is another picture really. In my head, they are mainly just stupid for taking on a superiorly-armed and superiorly-trained group of military men without a good reason. And then there is Paolini's level of stupidity for letting them actually win that…but yes, he would hold zero respect for the elves :)_

_**Dragonskyt: **__what she could be…alright, I'm curious._

_Thanks for the compliment, by the way._

_**Kain Everguard: **__Perhaps :p_

_**Alfonse08: **__by the time you read this, the answer to your second question should be obvious. As for the first one: well, yes._

_**Themythick: **__his guns wouldn't break. But who dares to call himself a Spartan when one can not murder tons of people without guns?_

_**Twubs: **__she didn't just activate it. She jump-started it, pouring all of her energy into the drug to forcibly manifest the effects. Sort of a one-way trip. Then there's also this chapter._

_**Water Guardian 26: **__indeed._

_**Teleri Sina Atari: **__ehm…spoilers. And yes, he will meet the elves. But hush, spoilers :D_

_**Jcraft: **__Nice._

_**Yes yes YES: **__hihi, dat title. Next one it is then!_

_**ILikedabubbles: **__wait for the next chapter, or wait for the telling of the war? Neither can be rushed._

_**Cthulujr: **__all correct!_

_**Guest1: **__yep. That was what my brain did when I realized the possibility. _

_**Solar Jarl The Cannon King 44K: **__Yay! Never disappoint! _

_**Dracologistmaster: **__you have no idea :P_

_**Kane: **__Pleasant surprise of two reviews. Must keep response to both short. Raia's biggest chance was the drug. And it was their fight that changed her mind about him. I also have something in mind for Galby's reasons, so don't worry :) _

_Well, if a Spartan allies himself with a group there is but one choice for them left, right? JOIN THE EMPIRE! …no seriously, they will want to get their Spartan back. And these marines are ONI-chosen, AKA badasser than normal badass. One unarmed marine would beat at least…three Varden soldiers in cqc…if the Varden can use their swords. _

_Also transport: spoilers._

_Our wayward Spartan still underestimates the dangers of magic…Raia's mistress has no clue as to what happened in the mountain recently and…spoilers. So much questions and so many spoilers :O _

_Good luck with the dark force and see you next chapter!_

_**AK74FU2: **__thanks, that's awesome to hear!_

_**The Reviewer: **__Yay! Drunk dragons...when where they drunk again?_

_**Guest 2: **__once a body and mind are warped, they won't be turning back. Raia has her own mind, but her body is still changed and her mind is still…off…because of the experience. Memories and experiences never fade._

_**The Blue Tigrex **__uh-oh, people ask my opinion. Is there a hidey-hole? No? Damn. First of all: no story falls apart on my watch. And while I am not going to make the Spartan and Raia love each other like that, Spartans aren't robots. And love isn't just an emotion that can be blocked out like pain, anger or happiness. Spartans can love…but that just doesn't happen. Often. And stuff._

_**Ghostshadow6661: **__I sure do :D which pattern though?_

_That was another page of replies… and I would like to say that I am still neutral and I do not bash any shippers. :3_

_~0~_

"_Yes, these drugs, combined with a certain mutagen, definitely have a new effect on the frontal lobe. It enhances the aggressive response to dangerous levels. Its effects are…there. At a point where a battle-hardened veteran ODST falls into coma, loses consciousness or dies, one augmented with this drug will still be able to fight. They are imperious to shock, coma and other altered states of consciousness, excluding sleep. And possibly dreams. Hell, these drugs make them fight to a point where regular SPARTAN-II 's will long have perished! But the side-effects are worse. Failure to keep up a regular dose of the anti-drugs will result in the afore-mentioned brain damage, but also in uncontrollable aggression."_

_Mental Health Specialist Sunfield, logbook entry 4 ½, , 24__th__ of August 2552._

_~0~_

_The surroundings were…familiar. He was walking in the same misty region he had visited before. He had been here before. The ground was the same as it had been before; stained by a dark, red liquid that was way too viscous to be true liquid. The thick layer of sky was also the same…but the air was all wrong, feeling eerie and dark and too heavy to be possible. He was naked; no MJOLNIR and no weapons. Not even a combat knife. Just him and his body, stuck in a dark landscape that seemed to resent him. Voices were calling out to him, screaming and crying and too high-pitched to be adult-_

The Spartan shot upright with a start and immediately drew his pistol, sweeping it around and searching for targets before his mind could even process that he was awake. Once he realized that he had been dreaming again and that the area was…moderately secure…he allowed himself to relax slightly. Aeraleth was sleeping in the corner and Raia was nowhere to be seen. He didn't really have anything that could help indicate how long he had slept, as he was still inside a mountain…inside a mountain.

He still couldn't really believe that he had spent thirteen days away from the UNSC, on a world inhabited by real dragons and real elves and real dwarves. It just didn't make sense…it was impossible. But it was _there_, right in front of him. Magic and telepathy…all was real. He worked with it and he killed with it. But…it was impossible. It couldn't be real, he had to be drugged or something like that. Or at least…all the impossible things still had to have a scientific explanation. Because at that point, only advanced bio-engineering could explain things like magic…things like Raia and Arya.

The Spartan rose to his feet and looked over at the place where his bonded dragon was sleeping. She had looked like she was fast asleep, but the moment he got to his feet she lazily opened one eye and watched him.

'_Good morning little soldier,'_ she told him. '_Finally awake?'_

Finally awake? How long had he slept? "How long was I out?"

The dragoness chuckled. It was a deep, rumbling noise that came out of her throat and it took the soldier a while to understand the meaning of both the sound and the gesture. The voice he could interpret as humor…the gesture behind the humor not. Had he said something funny? '_By my count? At least the entire day. It is night outside now.'_

That statement was surprising. "How do you know?"

'_I can feel it.'_

'_Right,'_ he thought sarcastically, '_and I can smell it.'_

'_So what now?'_ she asked. '_What shall we do, now that you are rested?'_

He took a deep breath in, felt that his limbs didn't shake anymore and then exhaled. No nausea, no dizziness and no aggressive desire to kill everything that he saw. He was good to go and if he looked at his partner, she was ready to go too. She had grown another feet since he had last judged her height. "The urgals should be gone, the Varden should be organized. Time to find Ajihad and ask some questions."

Aeraleth partially got on her feet- claws…limbs- and shook herself. Then she rose completely and glared at him with her large, yellow eyes. They were slitted like the eyes of an Elite were. '_You feel…off. Is something wrong?'_

He was about to answer her with a partial truth when he noticed a humanoid signal on his motion tracker, signaling it a few meters behind it. It automatically zoomed in and out when it concerned targets, so that he had a good overview of the situation. His watchtower was moderately protected against the masses of civilians by being an unknown place to most and that allowed him to use his motion tracker to a more accurate degree.

The Spartan turned around, his pistol still securely in his grip. In the door-opening stood Raia, with her arms crossed and her clothes repaired.

"Rider," she greeted him. "I heard you were awake."

She got enhanced hearing? That was troublesome. He would need to relay all of his communication telepathically to his partner, lest he risked valuable information being overheard. "I'll go find Ajihad, find out the truth about the elf thing. You stay here."

She cocked an eyebrow when she heard him say that. "You want me to stay here? For how long?"

He turned to face her, like he had done a few times before. He wasn't sure what it would take to scare a Shade into backing down, but his armour had an intimidating factor to it and Raia wouldn't miss the message that he intended to give her. "Until I'm done."

She nodded, perhaps understand him. "Very well. And then?"

He shrugged and marched towards the exit, passing her without giving her as much as a glance. He had his assault rifle in his arms, his SMG's at his hips and his sidearm in its holster. His grenades were all linked to his suit and the ammo stored where they needed to be. There was nothing in the cave she could use to harm anyone or herself, save from Aeraleth.

And the dragon was going with him. '_Coming?'_

'_Of course.'_

While the reptile took her own exit, the Spartan calmly walked down the stairs and waited outside for her to join up. When she didn't immediately appear, he contacted her mind and asked her what was wrong.

'_The tunnel is too narrow; I'll meet you near the open area, from where we can find Ajihad.'_

He sighed and continued on his own. He would much rather have Aeraleth with him than be alone amongst the crowds of civilians and silly races. He had no idea how to act around other people and she could at least scare them away without diplomatic consequences plaguing them.

Normally he wouldn't have given a damn about their diplomatic visions, but the fact that he was bonded to a dragon that originated from that world made him a…political piece in a grand play. A piece that held more power than anyone could imagine, but a piece nonetheless. He was going to pressure Ajihad until he knew the truth –all of it.

The Spartan eventually exited the large Tronjheim, concluding that the Varden's leader had to be near the front coordinating the defense and plans for his army. It had been a full day since the battle for the mountain and predictably, the ground was littered with blood and bodies. The casualties on both their side as the enemies' were just too high for anyone to orchestrate a burial that didn't border on a mass grave. In the distance was a giant fire where as many urgals were being burned as possible.

He spotted Eragon, standing near a mangled urgal body and staring numbly into the distance. Bandages still wrapped his body since he had received that scar and Saphira stood by his side, looking solemn and protective of the boy. The mile-long gaze that played across Eragon's features marked him as a shell-shocked soldier. But that was only to be expected; nothing could prepare someone for a slaughter of this scale…well, except for even bigger slaughters. Even bloodier conflicts. Normal people were never really numbed by the violence, unless they had sociopathic and psychopathic tendencies…or if they were Spartans.

The borders between those were a bit vague at times.

Aeraleth as waiting for him, a few dozen meters away from Saphira. Her black shape made it hard for the enemy to spot her and the only reason he saw her immediately was because of his natural night-vision.

The Spartan slowly made his way towards Eragon, understanding that the kid was prone to do something stupid if he stayed in that shaken haze. And because the young rider was pretty much this group's Messiah, he would most likely find the Varden's leader somewhere near him.

Either Eragon, or the second-in-command.

While he walked towards the rider and his dragon, he spotted a Kull that was still slowly struggling. Nothing that other people could see; a minor shake of a bloodied wrist, a subtle rising and falling of the chest and slight tremors near the artery. It was playing possum.

The Spartan stopped near the Kull, raised his boot and brought it down with enough force to completely shatter the thing's skull. Its head turned into a bloodied pulp and pieces of brain and bone flew everywhere. It was much like popping an Elite's skull, as they were both equally strong and equally susceptible to curb-stomping.

'_I figured you wanted that prey,'_ Aeraleth dryly remarked and craned her neck to look at his movement.

'_Sure,'_ he replied and continued marching towards Eragon. His blue dragon was the first one to notice that he was approaching them and promptly bared her teeth at him, uttering a deep snarl that seemed to shake her rider out of his stupor.

"What…?" He muttered and sluggishly turned to look at his dragon. She then sent him a telepathic message or something like that, as he turned again and saw who was approaching him. "Spartan?"

He ignored his remark and quickly scanned the battlefield around him, searching for anything that was still alive. While he did so, he asked Eragon what he had been meaning to ask him. "Where's Ajihad?"

The boy took a few seconds to process, the mile-long stare in his eyes not lessening while he did that. "I don't know."

The Spartan sighed and took a look at his motion scanner, seeing a human-sized contact approaching him from the rear, from Tronjheim's direction.

It was Jörmundur, the second-in-command. He was hurrying towards them at a pace that was still too slow and he was clutching a parchment note in one hand.

When he had finally reached them, he gave the super-soldier a wary look and then bowed to Eragon. "I'm glad I found you in time, Eragon," he told the boy, never keeping his eye of the armoured giant next to him. "Ajihad is returning and he wants you to be there when he arrives. The others are already waiting for him near the west gate. We have to hurry to get there in time!"

The boy nodded and placed a hand on Saphira's side, something that seemed to interest Aeraleth greatly.

Unsurprisingly, hurrying meant marching there at a leisurely pace that even a dwarf could follow. Eragon and Jörmundur talked about a few facts that weren't really interesting, like the fact that Ajihad had been furious about his daughter staying behind to help…or the fact that people were already calling Eragon a 'shadeslayer'. They also talked about a potential name that they had given to the Spartan, which they whispered to each other at a volume that was still perfectly audible: 'Grey Predator'. Said Predator's only business while accompanying the two humans and dragons was musing over the fact that he had compared their pace to that of a dwarf's instead of a grunt. He couldn't be going native, right?

They rounded Tronjheim and came across another group of little lost warriors. Amongst them were Orik –the dwarf shifting impatiently on his stupidly short legs- and Arya, whose white bandage seemed to shine in the darkness. The elf looked at Saphira and Eragon, her green eyes flashing, before looking back to continue watching for Ajihad. From what the Spartan had gathered from previous conversations and rumors, the elf had broken the Isidar Mithrim and allowed Eragon the victory against Durza, which in turn had allowed the urgals' rank to be broken.

Eragon and Saphira stopped near the bearded dwarf and joined him in idiotically gazing in the distance, waiting for their leader to emerge from wherever he was. The Spartan snorted with distaste at that choice of wasting time, but as he couldn't really think of something better to do without losing his chance at talking to Ajihad, he joined them. The ground of the giant mountain ranged at least five miles in each direction and the scale of such a hollow mountain only struck him as inconvenient; what if it crumbled?

"Where will Ajihad come from?" Eragon asked.

Orik pointed at a cluster of lanterns staked around a large tunnel-opening a mile away. "He should be here soon."

To the Spartan, here was in the vicinity of a hundred meters and not a mile away, but he refrained from correcting the small creature and waited patiently with the others, taking his time to communicate with his dragon some more.

'_Grey Predator?'_ He asked her.

'_Yes,'_ She answered with amusement. '_The short ones and the humans have started calling you that, amongst others. From what I have heard, it is because you dove into that tunnel without help to hunt down the urgals.'_

She was hearing rumors better than he was? What route did she take? Well, probably not the one that allowed her to avoid any and all contacts with sentient beings, but still. '_Amongst others?'_

'_Yes. They also call you 'Abomination', Shadow-Death and Blood-Demon.'_

The Spartan raised his head when he heard that. People calling him demon was one piece of nostalgia that he did not really like that much. All in all, all these nicknames were stupid and unnecessary. '_And how do you know this?'_

Her chest swelled subtly as she breathed in, proud of something that he didn't know. '_People recognize me as your partner and start to whisper when they see me. They forget that I have sharp hearing.'_

Did dragons have sharp hearing too? They were flying predators, so shouldn't their eyesight be more important?

'_Also, Saphira wishes to know where the Shade is. What shall I tell her?'_

'_Try 'none of your business'.'_

'_I shall tell her that she does not need to worry about the Shade…' _Aeraleth then lowered her head until it was directly in front of him. Her scaled head was large enough to swallow an average sized human in one bite and her teeth were larger than the largest combat knifes…resembling machetes in their size. '_She does not need to worry…right?'_

She was annoying him. '_I don't need to worry. That's all that matters.'_

'_Not if you want to keep your allies.'_

'_She won't be a problem.' _He then grudgingly told the dragoness.

'_There you go!' _She happily replied and probably relayed the message to Saphira, who would relay the message to Eragon…who would probably relay it to Orik, Arya and everyone else. If he was unfortunate, the entire Varden would know that he had a shade as his partner. That would make things awkward.

Easily thirty minutes passed while they waited for Ajihad to arrive at the scene. Eventually, Eragon sat down and Saphira wrapped her tail around his shoulders to serve as a comfortable way to sit. Maine looked at the scene, snorted with distaste and continued standing. Arya was standing too…her physiology was a curious one. She was stronger than humans and probably faster than them too. Would she be as good as Raia was? Or was she better? The fact that Spartans had been augmented to be superhuman didn't mean that the ones on this planet couldn't be superhuman. Shades were stronger than normal beings…could it be that the whole 'spirit' thing was just some bad attempt at indoctrination and that the method of turning a human into a Shade was really just an augmentation procedure? But how could people get medicines, chemicals and drugs like that? And how did that explain the dwarves and dragons? And it completely did NOT explain magic and telepathy. But it was a possibility that he should keep in his mind.

This was all so insane…

And then the tunnel flickered with motion. The Spartan immediately tensed up and snatched his sidearm out of his holster, aiming it at the entrance of the hole. A group of ten men climbed out of the tunnel and turned around to help a group of dwarves that was equally as large. Ajihad was among them and raised his hand, signaling for the men to form into two straight lines. At another signal, the formation started to march towards Tronjheim.

The Spartan frowned when he saw something else though. Something that caused his blood to burn hot and his mind to chill, sending him straight into the serene state of combat readiness.

The tunnel was swarming with activity and many more figures were visible. Those figures did not belong to the formation of men, as Ajihad would have allowed them up too. They didn't fit and as such, they were hostiles.

Ajihad was about to be swarmed by urgals.

~0~

Eragon watched as the formation of men and dwarves started walking towards the large city-mountain, marching proudly and victoriously after their hours in the tunnel. He felt relieved that at least they were alright; it had taken Saphira more than an hour to properly calm him down after he had seen so much carnage, death and destruction at the battlefield. He had thought that seeing the corpse of his dead uncle would have prepared him to see other dead bodies, but he couldn't have been farther from the truth. As such, seeing Ajihad being alright filled him with warmth and relief. The man was a likeable person and a good leader.

Before they went more than five yards, the tunnel behind them became a flurry of activity and more figures were moving out of it. He squinted, unable to see them from so far away.

Nest to him, the monstrous rider exploded into movement and sprinted towards the tunnel, sending shards of rock and gravel everywhere. Before Eragon could understand why, Saphira's body tensed like a drawn bowstring and exclaimed: '_Those are urgals!'_

He didn't question her for a second and immediately understood that the rider who called himself 'Spartan' must have somehow seen that. "Urgals!" he cried and leaped onto Saphira, his progress being severely hindered by his painful back. The scar had plagued him once more; lances of pain would suddenly shoot into his back, as if every single muscle cramped up.

He cursed himself for leaving Zar'roc in his room. Why? Of all times to leave his sword into his room, he had done it now? Why was he so stupid! Was it because nobody would have expected the urgals to launch another attack?

Spartan had carried his weaponry with him…

His wounds burned as Saphira lifted her azure wings, then drove them down and jumped forwards. The dragon that was named 'Aeraleth' moved almost synchronous with Saphira, but because his dragon was smaller, the black one was able to take off faster. But Saphira gained speed with every second and below him, Arya ran towards the tunnel too, following Spartan. Her black hair was trailing after her body and she was nearly keeping pace with Saphira. Orik trailed her with several men and Jörmundur ran back to the barracks, but they were so slow…too slow.

Ergon was forced to watch helplessly as the urgals fell on the rear of Ajihad's warriors; he could not work magic over such a distance. The monsters had the advantage of surprise and quickly cut down four men, forcing the rest of the warriors, men and dwarves alike, to cluster around Ajijhad in an attempt to protect him. Murtagh and the twins were there with the Varden's leader; Twins because they were powerful magicians and Murtagh because he wanted to proof that he wasn't like his father, who had died being Galbatorix' most loyal subject and betrayer of the order of riders.

Swords and axes clashed as the groups pressed together and simultaneously, explosions sounded from Spartan as he used his lethal crossbow-like weapon. The gray-armoured youth was doing the impossible; running faster than Arya, running faster than both dragons and actually killing the enemy from such a great distance while sprinting faster than humanly possible. He wasn't an elf, because Aeraleth had told Saphira that he was a human.

Light flashed from one of the Twins and an urgal fell, clutching the stump of his severed arm. For some nerve-wracking but hopeful seconds, it seemed as if the group would defeat the monstrosities and that Spartan would reach them in time. But then a swirl of motion blurred the air, like a faint band of mist wrapping itself around the combatants. When it had cleared, only eight warriors were standing: Murtagh, Ajihad, the Twins and several others. The urgals converged on them too, blocking Eragon's view as he watched with horror and pain that the two people he had come to care for like that would die in such a way.

'_No!`_ He thought desperately, even as Spartan unslung another weapon and even more explosions came from his side. ´_No no no no!´_

Before Saphira could touch down, most of the urgals streamed back into the tunnel, leaving only a wounded and bleeding Ajihad behind. More of his men had died and the ones that had survived, were helping the dark-skinned man to get back to his feet.

That didn't work.

Spartan fired off one last shot and then, somehow, he stumbled. Except that he didn't really stumble, he stopped himself from sprinting and bent forwards slightly, his hand reaching for his head as he staggered briefly.

The moment Saphira touched down, Eragon vaulted off and immediately faltered, overcome by grief and anger. '_I can´t do this…´_ it reminded him too much of the death of his uncle, who had been like a father to him…and Brom, who had also died…who had also been as a father to him. The urgals might have died before they could kill Ajihad, but such a wound could still easily kill him…

Fighting back his dread and other emotions with every step, he began to move to the survivors. The site was eerily similar to the battlefield he had stumbled onto earlier; except that this time, the smell of blood was much fresher. He hadn't liked the Twins, but no man deserved being killed off by urgals like that.

In the center of the bloodbath sat Ajihad, his breastplate dented and punctured, surrounded by two urgals he had slain. Spartan's ranged onslaught had served to save his life, but he wasn't safe yet. His breath still came in ragged gasps and as Eragon knelt by him to try and help him, he felt tears running down his face. He could heal Ajihad, but he was still so weak…Saphira was still so weak. Spartan could heal, but he looked like he had just given up the last of his energy already. He was leaning against the tunnel and gazing at the floor, his arms hanging by his side.

Arya reached them, threw one look at the gray rider and immediately started healing the Varden's leader. Her face was hopeful and…grudgingly thankful. Eragon didn't know why he thought the elf looked like that, but he still did.

"Eragon," Ajihad softly said.

"Yes," the boy replied, "I am here."

"Listen to me Eragon…Arya…Spartan. I cannot…cannot lead the Varden like this. Not…anytime…soon. You must promise me…promise me that you won't let the Varden fall apart. They are our only hope…Eragon. Keep them strong…while I heal."

"You won't die!" Eragon told the man. "You will still be the leader!"

"He is too wounded, Eragon," Arya told him and her voice turned sorrowful. "You must do all you can to prevent a power struggle. I shall help where I can. "

Unwilling to speak further and weaken Ajihad, Eragon looked around to survey the bodies. He would have given anything to be somewhere else…but he knew that he shouldn't.

Saphira nosed one of the bodies and said: '_This should not have happened. It is an evil doing…and all the worse for coming when we should be save and victorious.' _She examined another body and then swung her head around. '_Where are the bodies of Murtagh and the Twins? I can't find them.'_

'_You are right!´_ He replied, elation filling the pain that his heart had been filling itself with. Pools of thickening blood clung to the entrance of the tunnel, looking like someone had dragged a body through it. ´_The urgals must have taken them! But why? Do they take prisoners?'_ Despair filled him again once he realized that the situation was still far from alright. '_It doesn't matter! We can't pursue them without reinforcements and…and you wouldn't fit through the opening!'_

'_They may be alive. Will you abandon them?'_

'_What do you expect me to do! The tunnels are an endless maze…and I wouldn't catch the urgals on foot. Arya might…and Spartan might.'_

'_Then ask them.'_

'_Arya…'_ Eragon hesitated, torn between his desire for Murtagh's safety and his loathing to put her in danger. And Spartan…that person was dangerous and unpredictable. He didn´t want to ask him a thing but…those two were the only ones in the Varden that could handle the urgals.

Groaning, he explained what they had found. Arya's slanted eyebrows met in a frown. "It makes no sense."

"We don't leave men behind," Spartan then interrupted and looked up, gazing at them from behind his strange helmet. His voice sounded raw and off…deep, but not deep as an adult's.

"Will you pursue them?" Eragon then asked the both of them.

Arya stared at him for a heavy moment while Spartan marched to the entrance, his tall and armoured body straightening itself as he reviewed the area. "Wiol ono." For you.

Then the elf bounded forwards, her sword flashing in her sword as she dove into the earth's belly. She was closely followed by Spartan, who had lost his previous elegance in his movements. Had he been wounded? His armour was still intact…magic? Had he repaired it?

Frustrated, Eragon sat cross-legged across Ajihad while his men patched him up to the best of their capabilities. Arya had healed him to the best of her capabilities, but he had lost so much blood…

And he could barely fathom that Murtagh was missing. _Murtagh…_ son of one of the Forsworn, who had helped Galbatorix destroy the order and anoint himself king to Alagaesia. And he was Eragon's friend. No matter who his father had been, Murtagh was a good person.

He sat motionless as Orik approached him, who then watched the unconscious form of Ajihad and guessed the rest. He cursed violently and swung his axe at the body of an urgal. "Those monsters! Still they could not have brought him down, but his state will leave a broken hornet's nest.

Eragon told the dwarf about the disappearance of the Twins and Murtagh…and the fact that Arya and Spartan had gone after them. The other rider was such a mystery…and his allegiance was questionable at best. He was rude, strange and different. But his statement of 'no man left behind' had puzzled him too. Why would Spartan care for someone he hadn't met before? Wasn't that the task of a soldier?

Jörmundur appeared with twelve men and looked down at Ajihad, relief visible on his face as he saw that most wounds were mended. "This should not have happened…not so close to our victory. He was lucky that you and Arya were so quick to appear. Where is she?"

Eragon explained what had happened and Jörmundur frowned deeply. "She should not have gone, but there is naught we can do for now. Guards will be posted here, but it will be at least an hour before the dwarven guides can start an expedition into the tunnel."

"I'd be willing to lead it," Orik offered, but the second-in-command wouldn't have any of it.

"No. Hrothgar needs you now; someone else must go. Everyone important _must _stay here until Ajihad's temporary replacement is chosen. Arya and Spartan will have to fend for themselves…we wouldn't be able to overtake them anyway."

Eragon nodded, accepting the inevitable. Jörmundur then turned to face the warriors under his command, before speaking up loud enough for all to hear. "Ajihad lives! Not even a group of urgals has managed to kill our leader off and even now, he is recovering. But he cannot lead the Varden as he is now. We will bear our heads high and bring our leader back to Tronjheim, where the best we can offer will work to the best of their capabilities to heal him! Weep not, for hope is still here!"

As one, the warriors flowed towards Ajihad and gently picked him up, carrying him on their shields back to Tronjheim, with Eragon and Saphira in the middle of their group.

~0~

As the shadows were creeping up their stone tower again, Aeraleth watched her rider gasping for air as he tore his helmet off again, keeping the red-coloured piece of armour loosely in one of his gauntlets. She could feel his all of his suffering through their mental link and she had to dose the amount of sensations that rippled across their mirror-like bond, lest she lose herself to madness.

Maine exhaled softly and set down near the walls of his watchtower, his helmet still hanging loosely in his hand. He and the elf had spent at least three hours searching the tunnels for the missing Eragon-friend and the two hairless Twins, but to no avail. According to the soldier, they had only found a few bloodied clothes near a large abyss. He had immediately concluded that the three were dead, but the circumstances were strange at the very least and she didn't trust it. But she had to be honest with herself; she cared not for Murtagh or the Twins. She cared only for her rider and currently, he was suffering. He was suffering from a corruption that ran deep within his marrows, setting his mind aflame and burning his sanity away.

She could feel how it affected him; his senses clouded over and lied to him, plaguing him with visions that weren't his. He had suffered another such fit during his attempt to save the dark-faced Ajihad, nearly falling over when his limbs started to lie again. She could only feel a tiny fraction of the real deal in his head and what she felt was too alien and strange to deal with; it was dark, deep and dreadful. It was borrowing deep into her rider's mind, threatening to take him from her. He was so sick…and yet he was so strong. His strength baffled her; not even in all of her memories and instincts had she known that any two-legged being could be so powerful. He strode around with confidence and strength and despite his suppressed desire to scream, he still carried himself with dignity. He outpaced an elf and was strong enough to keep on marching without pause.

But that could not last forever. Only when he had returned to the tower had he fully collapsed, slipping into a deep shell within his mind that she had not been able to breach. Within that breach, she had felt his mind raging and snapping at any rational section that tried to regain control. He had actually warned her away, telling her that his body was going to hurt her should she touch him.

And now…now he was sitting against the wall, calm but exhausted. Sweat was dripping from his short, black hair and his unnaturally pale skin reminded her of something that lived underneath a rock. Her rider was _not _something that lived underneath a rock.

'_Maine?'_ She gently asked him, taking in as much of the pain of his mind as she could without harming herself permanently. '_What is happening to you?'_

His breath came in short, rapid pants and his eyes were half-closed. Still, he managed to retain his composure without difficulty and his answer was short and to-the-point. '_Local disease…others are probably immune…I'm not. I'll…be fine…later.'_

Somehow, she was not convinced that he was going to be alright…and neither did she blame some local disease for his situation.

Raia the Shade was lurking in the shadows, watching rider with eyes that possessed too much compassion too be genuine. Aeraleth still didn't want to believe that the Shade was responsible for her partial recovery and she still hated her for her relentless hunting of the Spartan. But she was bound to him in a way and that prevented her from fighting her away.

"I think I know where the answer lies…" the once spirit-possessed woman then stated.

Maine didn't respond in any way, verbal or nonverbal.

"During the time I was…hunting you…I thought of a way to suppress your abilities as a rider. When one has to deal with a magician, one can use an extract of a rare plant. Such an extract can be refined into a drug, which will suppress a magician's ability to call upon magic."

Aeraleth nearly held her breath as she listened to the sudden and clear explanation about what plagued her rider so much. Said rider still didn't respond. He didn't even blink.

"So," Raia continued, "I procured the most potent drug I could…and enhanced it with magic. I slipped it in the river you were drinking from ten days ago…and it has slowly started to work."

Still her rider didn't respond, but she did. Aeraleth understood the magnitude of the pain that the Shade had caused and her body responded before her mind did, lashing out with her tail towards the pale woman and intending on crushing her.

The lean Shade jumped backwards and narrowly avoided the whip-like appendage as it tore through the air.

"What I did has happened, but you must listen to me, dragon. You can be angry later-"

'_Later?'_ She bellowed at the Shade's mind, overcoming her fear and disgust in one fell swoop and completely bypassing her defenses before they could even be erected. She had had it with the feral female and she would protect her partner-of-heart. '_You have drugged him? With a magically enhanced venom that could have killed him? And you say this now?'_

"I held no reason to suspect it had already worked," the Shade was quick to point out, "normally, even the strongest spell-weavers fall within a day. Your rider has shaken it off for more than ten. I had to resort to something else."

Even though Aeraleth's anger was currently boiling over, she felt that her tone was calm and controlled when she responded. Nevertheless, she lashed out at the Shade again and her tail tore a path through the wall, shattering dozens of stones with the movement. '_You hadn't done enough? You did something else?'_

"You need to understand," Raia unhappily said, but the dragoness didn't allow her to continue.

'_I don't need to do anything! Fix him, now.'_

"I-"

'_NOW!'_

"I cannot," the female then slowly and carefully replied. "I forced the enhanced drug to restart with all of my energy –which is no small amount, even when pushed that far. I can do many things; I can remove curses and restore organs. But I cannot remove something that is now so integrated with the mind. Your rider now has to deal with the accumulated effect of a month worth of venom…and that is my fault."

'_I know it is!'_ Aeraleth growled at her and menacingly lowered her head, making sure that the cursed female understood just how lethal she was. '_And if he finds out, he will-'_

"Quit it," the powerful voice of her partner-of-heart snapped and instinctively, she allowed her body to relax and back up. Raia's body –her stupid, human body- had the same general response to the commanding voice. Maine had slipped his helmet back on and he was now gathering his things, preparing himself for another trip into Tronjheim. "She told us about the drug, that's all we need for now. I can handle it."

'_But-'_

"I can handle it," Maine repeated himself with more force as he approached the two of them. But he didn't realize that the two of them were trying to point something else out.

"Rider-"

'_Spartan-'_

"No."

Aeraleth sighed and withdrew her tail, allowing Raia to point at the now freed door-opening. Ajihad's cub Nasuada stood there, her fist raised in that funny human gesture that signaled a craving for attention.

"What?" Maine barked at her.

"I-is this a bad time?" the girl asked as she watched the fight between the former spirits-possessed woman, the angry dragoness and the cranky super-soldier. Her eyes widened in fear when she decided that the Shade was the most prominent one in that trio. "Spartan! A Shade!"

"I know," he said with annoyance, "she and Aeraleth are a pain in the ass."

Ouch. That hurt.

When the soldier made no attempt to murder the Shade, Nasuada crossed her arms and threw a stern look at him. Sort of like a mother scolding a child. Aeraleth had only met her once before, but she already liked the girl. Fully grown men and urgals alike would run in terror of her beloved rider, but Nasuada had the courage to stand there and scold him.

Yes, she actually scolded him. "I had heard this from Orik, but never would I think it true. You made a deal with a Shade? Do you seek to hurt the Varden through your actions, rider?"

Aeraleth agreed with her.

Maine stepped closer to the dark girl and looked down at her; he was so much taller than she was. "The Varden nearly fell apart because of a lack of Intel. She can give me that Intel."

Aeraleth agreed with him too.

"She? A Shade is a mindless monster, rider! 'She' will only try to destroy you because you caught her!"

"'She' has a name," the Shade dryly remarked, "and would prefer to be called by that: Raia. I surrendered to the rider and have done nothing to harm him since."

She was sure that the Shade was merely sounding so civilized to fool Nasuada.

The dark-skinned girl seemed to be interested by the Shade's comment though, as she eyed the woman with a gaze that held interest and confusion. "Do you serve the king?"

"I only serve my own mistress. She does not serve the king…but neither does she oppose him."

"What makes you trust her?" Nasuada then angrily hissed at Maine, her emotions showing through her otherwise calm demeanor. "A Shade has crippled Eragon and a Shade has tortured Arya! You cannot trust one."

"Galbatorix is a human," the Spartan reminded the also human. "And Raia has shown me how to heal Aeraleth…which saved her life," he then added.

And that stung too. Now Nasuada knew that too.

"She did?" the girl replied with confusion. "No Shade would ever do that…why did you?"

Raia scowled slightly and crossed her arms. Her air had a hint of superiority to it as she arrogantly eyed Nasuada. "Because the world as you know it is narrow and simple? Perhaps because not every Shade is the same? Or perhaps because _I _am _not_ a mindless monster. I am different."

Nasuada smiled, but Aeraleth knew that the smile was not genuine. It was a mean smile that oozed manipulation. The girl was clever and careful. "Then I am sure that you will watch over the rider as he heads out to meet the council, because right now he is needed."

"I will watch over him, as no 'one else has made an attempt to do so." The Shade replied with an equally fake smile.

Aeraleth snickered when she understood what was going on. Basically, Maine had a Shade and a human fighting over his well-being.

His well-being…wait…Raia cared for his well-being? Or had she just said that to trick Nasuada?

"What council?" Maine raised another well-pointed question. "Why are you here?"

"Because," Nasuada then replied with a softer tone, "The council of elders, the advisors and other important diplomats of my father, wish to discuss who will replace my father for the time being. And regarding that…I wish to personally thank you for saving his life."

'_How did she know?'_ The Spartan asked Aeraleth in her mind, sounding rather annoyed. What being sounded annoyed when they were being thanked by a member of the opposite gender? She for one would the thrilled if a male dragon thanked her for saving his life…not that such a thing was ever going to happen.

'_I think,' _she replied calmly, '_that rumors spread fast. Your actions were heroic and impossibly well-timed. You have gained a powerful reputation…and an even more powerful ally.'_

'_Whatever.'_

She went quiet again and listened to Nasuada's explanation. "The council consists of the people that were chosen to speak to Ajihad on the Varden's behalf. They are his trusted advisors and they wish to know your opinion regarding my father's replacement. It is…a great honour.

Please Maine, pick up on the hesitation in that last sentence.

"Why," the soldier bluntly said, "should I care?"

A hint of amusement played over the human's features. "They have summoned you to speak before them. Normally, refusal would lead to imprisonment or a different form of punishment, as you would effectively be denying the Varden itself. However…" The girl´s voice halted in her throat as she looked over the armoured form of Maine. "A rider has privileges. Not to an unlimited degree, but…seeing as you were the one who saved my father, I had hoped that you would at least help decide what was going to happen now…"

The clever girl was trying to manipulate the soldier. She must not know him. Still, Aeraleth agreed that it was a good idea that her rider should voice his opinion. Diplomatic matters might not be his strong-suit, but his experience had proven to be invaluable. '_Little soldier?'_ She asked him.

'_What?'_

'_I think you should go to this meeting.'_

'…_explain yourself.'_

'_Well, you were unsatisfied with the methods employed by the Varden, yes?'_

'_Yes.'_

'_If you were to deny this meeting…this…choosing of successor…you would never be able to complain again, as you will have passed up your one chance to change it.'_

'_You make it sound as if I like complaining.'_

She chuckled. '_Sometimes I think you do. Please visit these people; it is better than staying behind here…with Raia. And your disease.'_

'_You know the risks.'_

'_I stop you from murdering them all and will go there?'_

'_Yes.'_

'_Good,'_ she happily finished their conversation and turned her attention to Nasuada. '_We accept. Will you lead us, daughter of Ajihad?'_

Nasuada's eyes grew big when she felt the mental contact. The human should be awed by her presence; it was not every day in her life that she was graced by a consciousness as vast as her own.

"Yes, you awe me oh dragon," Nasuada said and bowed slightly. "But I will have to insist for…Raia…to stay here."

"I have given my fealty to him," the Shade said with a hint of amusement and she brushed a bang of red hair out of her face. "I shall do as he says."

"Stay here," Maine then ordered the red-haired woman and that was that.

~0~

Nasuada let them to an arched stone, which the girl pushed open. The room inside was circular, with a sky blue dome decorated with constellations. A round marble table, decorated with dwarven crest –an upright hammer ringed by twelve stars- stood in the center of the chamber. Seated there were Jörmundur and two other men, one tall and one broad. There were also two women; one with pinched lips, close-set eyes and elaborately painted cheeks and one with an immense pile of gray hair above a matronly face, armed with a dagger hilt peeking out of her stupid amount of clothes.

"You may go," Jörmundur told Nasuada, who quickly bowed and left.

The Spartan slowly walked into the room, conscious of the fact that these people were watching him with a focus and concentration that made them appear to be thinking of magic. Or advanced thermodynamics. There were a few chairs scattered throughout the room, but he preferred to stand.

They wouldn't support his weight anyway.

Aeraleth hunkered directly behind him and watched the group of elders with her own concentrated gaze, which was probably a tenfold as intense as theirs.

Jörmundur, whose respect and attitude had increased dramatically since Ajihad had been saved, got halfway up from his chair and bowed slightly, then reseated himself. "Thank you for coming Spartan, even though you have your own things to worry about. This is Umérth," the tall man, "Falberd," "the broad one," and Sabrae and Elessari," the two women.

He ignored his greeting and went straight to the point. "What do you want?"

A commotion of whispers ran across the table when he brusquely slapped the introduction aside, but the second-in-command nodded, perhaps understand the military need to cut though the crap. "We face a crisis that must be dealt with quickly and effectively. Ajihad is too wounded to lead the Varden for at least a month. You have saved his life, but we still need to choose a temporary replacement before someone else will. Hrothgar has already contacted us to convey his condolences. While he was more than courteous, he is sure to be forming his own plans while we speak. We must also consider Du Vrangr Gata, the group of magic users in the Varden, formerly led by the Twins. Most of them are loyal to the Varden, but it's difficult to predict their actions in the best of times. They might decide to oppose our authority for their own advantage."

"You were stupid to let them in here if you didn't trust them," he pointed out. The two women replied with shock and anger at his statement and the two men jumped upright, but Jörmundur forced them to sit down again with a gesture.

"That is why we need your assistance, Spartan, to provide the legitimacy required by whoever is to take Ajihad's place.

Falberd heaved himself up, planting his meaty hands on the table. There wasn't a single person in here besides the second-in-command that seemed to have had any combat experience at all. They were lazy, unknowing civilians that had no place deciding something this important. "The five of us have already decided whom to support. There is no doubt among us that it is the right person. But," he raised a thick finger, "before we reveal who it is, you must give us your word of honor whether you agree or disagree with us, nothing of our discussion will leave the roof."

At least they weren't stupid. But why would they want him to stay quiet? Would they discuss this with the rest of the group? They wanted his opinion on the matter, but…he couldn't risk keeping something stupid a secret. If they chose someone incompetent, he wouldn't keep quiet. He would oppose them either in secret or publicly.

"Only if I agree."

"We can't have that," the woman with her gray hair replied. "Why, remember your standing rider. We have already decided on who to choose and I would think that the five of us knew our work better tha one inexperienced, immature rider."

"You would think," he replied softly but threateningly. The message was clear and the woman shut her fat mouth. Aeraleth would make no such promises. He understood the need for secrecy, but if he wanted to, she could spill the beans to anyone that would support a different leader. Including Raia, who would destabilize the council and Nasuada, who held much power as the daughter of a leader.

'_Agree for now,'_ Aeraleth told him, '_I can always tell Arya or Nasuada or even Ajihad who they have chosen. Silly of them to forget that dragons are as intelligent as the wisest human.'_

So she thought the same thing? It was obvious that this meeting wasn't going anywhere if he didn't promise to be quiet. "Fine. Who?"

"Nasuada," a woman and a man spoke at the same time.

Maine cocked his eyebrow at that choice and quickly recalled everything he had heard about Nasuada. She was intelligent, unfazed and disciplined in at least one way. But despite the fact that she had stayed behind to fight, she was a noncombatant. An inexperienced, young noncombatant that lacked the insight required to lead the Varden. And why would this collection of leeches and idiots choose her? They would probably want to have something to gain but…what?

'_Nasuada would be like her father,'_ Aeraleth observed. '_She has strength.'_

'_Why would they want her?'_ He asked the dragon. Her people-knowledge was superior to his.

He would much rather have an experienced man to take the job of military leader. And what better choice for a military leader than a second-in-command? The man who was, oh he didn't know, second in command?"

"Don't be stupid," he bit at the council. "She is a child without experience. Jörmundur is the _second-in-command_. He should lead."

A current of unease ran through the council; Sabrae sat even straighter, her hands clasped before her. Umérth and Falberd glanced at each other darkly, while Elessari just smiled.

"Because," Jörmundur said while selecting his words with care, "I am the second-in-command in military matters, nothing more. Also, I am a member of this council, which only has power because we support one another. It would be foolish and dangerous for one of us to raise himself above the rest."

The council relaxed again as he finished and Elessari patted him on the forearm.

Bunch of manipulating bastards.

'_Hah!' _Aeraleth exclaimed, '_He would have probably taken power already had it been possible for force the others to back him up. Just look how they eye him; he is like a wolf amongst a herd of sheep.'_

And he was the dragon amongst the wolf amongst the sheep. "You lot of have no idea how things work," he impatiently pointed out. "the Varden is a military group with the sole purpose of beating a larger, more organized organization. Choosing a little girl to lead is equal to throwing away victory."

"Will you stop insulting us, Spartan?" Jörmundur asked him, but Elessari was quick to respond with less patience.

"You must remind your place rider!" She angrily exclaimed. "We have been on this council for many years. We know what is best for the Varden, while you have just recently become a rider. You hold no experience, no knowledge and no right-"

The Spartan raised his foot and brought it down on the nearest chair, reducing it to a pile of splinters with one swift movement. The woman shut up at that sudden display of violence and noise and silence fell upon the room. Their patience was running out, but _his _patience _had_ runout. "Convince me that Nasuada is the right one. You have one minute. After that, this council is disbanded."

Jörmundur jumped to his feet but Aeraleth snarled violently at him, forcing him to sit down again. The people of the council had grown pale with fear and some of them were outright shaking. "Y-you have no r-right!" Falberd stuttered. "Y-you are loyal to the Varden! A-as a rider from Alagaesia! Jörmundur, do something!"

"I'm not from Alagaesia," he barked. "I am Two-Sierra zero-zero-seven and I came from the stars. Forty seconds." To emphasize his statement, he pulled out his sidearm and cocked it, before aiming it at the fat man.

Sabrae was the first one who showed that she had some sense. "I had already been here for seven years when Ajihad joined the Varden and I have watched Nasuada grow up from a darling girl to the woman she is. A trifle light-headed occasionally, but a good one to lead the Varden. She has experience and the people will love her!"

She sounded frantic and desperate, but she made one vital point. A good leader cared for his men, while a great leader loved his men like they were his own sons. But an effective leader was willing to send the ones he cared for to their deaths. Nasuada holding the loyalty of her people was important, but she would choke on the hard decisions.

"Now I," Elessari added quickly, understanding that she had no time to waste when it concerned the Spartan, "and my friends will be here to guide her through these troubled times. She will never be without someone to show her the way. Inexperience will be no problem."

So that was it. They wanted a person they could manipulate and control. They were selfish and egocentrically tailored; he wouldn't have them near the new leader. But they listened to him now and that was the most important. "Does Nasuada know?"

"In two days, we plan to appoint Nasuada as our new leader. We have yet to ask her, but she wil surely agree. Eragon will be present at the appointing, so no one, not even Hrothgar, will complain about it. He will swear fealty to the Varden and that will give back the confidence that Ajihad's wounds have stolen form the people. Nobody would try to splinter this organization."

They had convinced the irrational Eragon to swear fealty to the Varden? "What do you want from me?"

"Bluntly said," Jörmundur replied, "two is better than one. It is obvious that you hold more experience and knowledge than Eragon."

"And if I refuse to acknowledge her?" he challenged them.

"It would be a terrible blow to the morale of the Varden," Falberd cautiously replied. "If a rider, one as gifted as yourself, would not be present when Nasuada was chosen, what can she think but that you spite her and disagree with her place? Who could bear such a shame?"

They thought that they could control him like they could Eragon, but they were dead wrong.

'_It would be hard for you to remain a neutral force without allies,´ _Aeraleth told him as she brushed the top of his helmet with her nose. ´_Your choice to spare the Shade has made you a few enemies. You need friends, not enemies…and without your people here, you cannot be a third faction.´_

_´These people could not stop us,´_ he replied and the thought to simply assert control rose in his head.

´_No, but they can cause us no end of grieve. Even though they cannot physically harm you, I would not see them make you unhappy…and we cannot afford to have both the Empire and the Varden as our enemy. To prevent losing the Varden as an ally, you need to find a find out of this situation without more violence.'_

"We already have Arya's agreement and Eragon's, there is no point refusing us now," Umérth said with a nasty and increasingly smug smile. "We just need you to attend the ceremony in two days."

'_Remember,´_ Aeraleth pointed out, ´_they only wish for you to be there. They do not seek to gain your fealty.'_

"Fine," he said after a few seconds of silence. "I'll attend the ceremony."

Jörmundur looked relieved. "Good, good. Then we only have one more matter to deal with before you go: Nasuada's acceptance. There is no reason to delay anymore, I'll send for her immediately. We already have the elves' approval and-"

"Wait," Elessari commanded with a steel glint in her eyes. "Your word though, rider. We need you to swear fealty to the Varden too, at the ceremony."

"Yes, you must do that," Falberd agreed. "The Varden would be disgraced if we couldn't provide you every protection."

'_I see. Do what you must,'_ Aeraleth said with a hint of amusement.

He pulled out his combat knife, twirled it around in his fingers so that he gripped the blade between his index finger and thumb. Then he flung the ten-inch stainless steel blade at Falberd, driving the knife into the wall behind him –an inch away from his head.

The man gasped, looked at the blade that had embedded itself four inches into the stone wall and then grew as pale as Raia. A scream of fear escaped his lips and the rest of the council jumped to their feet, backing up against the wall and seeking cover from any follow-up attack. Jörmundur too jumped to his feet and pulled his sword out, but Aeraleth growled again and the man stopped in his tracks.

"Let's get this straight," he said menacingly as he stepped towards the council, making sure to step at the ruined remains of the chair and grinding it into dust. "I don't serve the Varden anymore than Arya or Hrothgar. I am loyal to my people, the UNSC. I will fight the empire and _nothing more_."

"B-but…" Elessari muttered, "As a rider we need-"

"I don't need protection or help," he snarled at her and immediately felt a pounding headache form in his head. He had already been feeling like crap and he did not need this situation. He needed time to relax, recover and train. "And neither does Nasuada. She needs her father, Jörmundur and one from you. That. Is. All."

"One of us? Surely you don't mean to choose one of us to serve as her advisor?" Falberd weakly sputtered.

"You cannot do that!" Elessari snapped.

"You said it," he replied. "A rider's support is important. Without it, you might as well quit. Work it out."

'_Do not make this difficult for Nasuada,'_ Aeraleth warned him.

"I will accept Nasuada's orders should the need arise."

'_That…that is not…not what I meant.´_

The fact that he had openly declared that he would accept Nasuada seemed to cause a strange relief with the council, as all around the table signs of relaxation appeared. They were still afraid of him…as they should be.

"I shall call for her then…" Jörmundur muttered and walked to the door.

"You will regret this blatant abuse of power!" Falberd hissed angrily at the Spartan, but the moment the super-soldier marched towards him and reached for his head, the man closed his eyes and cowered.

The Spartan huffed at that display of courage and merely pulled his knife out of the wall, brushing pieces of stone and dust off of the dark blade. Then he turned around and watched Nasuada enter the room.

'_Bring her up to speed,'_ he immediately told Aeraleth. '_She needs to know what is going on.'_

'_You? Wanting someone else to understand? That is a new one.'_

'_Do it.'_

The Spartan then decided that Nasuada was as deeply forced into this situation as he was and that she lacked the sheer discipline to deal with it. Her father was going to help her, sure, but she would need more help. Eragon and Arya would support her…but they were pretty much useless when it came to military tactics and strategies. He would support her and the Varden against the Empire…and he needed to appear like he actually cared for her.

He straightened his back, slid his knife into the holster and then clicked his boots together. He didn't salute, as she wasn't his superior, but he did cross his wrists behind his back in a formal gesture of attention.

Nasuada had her chin held high and her eyes were steady. Her embroidered gown was a deep shade of black, broken only by a slash of purple that stretched from her shoulder to her hip. Jörmundur helped Nasuada into a seat and started talking.

"Nasuada, Daughter of Ajihad, the council of elders wishes to formally extend its condolences your suffering. You have nearly lost your father today."

"Thank you," Nasuada murmured. She sat shy and demure and with an air of vulnerability that disgusted the Spartan. He didn't know her as vulnerable or weak; he knew her as a level-headed woman that knew her duty. This was a masquerade that she put on.

"Although this is your time to care for your father and stand by his side, a quandary exists that you must resolve. This council cannot lead the Varden. And someone must replace your father until he can recover completely, if he ever recovers. We ask that you receive the position. As his heir, it is rightfully yours –the Varden expect it of you."

Nasuada bowed her head. "I never thought I would be called upon to take my father's place so young, even though he has not been taken from us. Yet…if you insist it is my duty…I will embrace the office. I accept."

The council beamed with triumph, pleased that Nasuada had done what they wanted. The members of the council then offered her their expressions of support, while Sabrae threw the Spartan an angry glare at his lack of response.

"Is there anything else we must discuss? For I am weary," Nasuada said after a few minutes of further celebrations.

Jörmundur shook his head. "We will make arrangements for the Varden to hear about what happened. Until then, you won't be bothered."

"Again, thank you. Would you leave me now? I need to consider how best to honor my father's way of leading and serve the Varden. You have given me much to ponder."

Umérth looked like he was going to protest at the council being dismissed like that, but Falberd waved a hand and silenced him. "Of course, whatever will give you peace. If you need help, we are ready and willing to serve." Gesturing for the rest of them to follow, he moved to the door.

"Spartan, will you please stay?"

"No," he replied.

'_Say yes,'_ Aeraleth added. '_She is hurt and needs you.'_

"…fine. What is it?"

Nasuada looked over at the door and the Spartan followed her gaze, looking at Falberd standing near the door, reluctant to leave.

The super-soldier slowly slit his knife out of his holster and the man visibly paled and ran away.

Nasuada sat partially turned away from Maine and Aeraleth. "So we meet again, rider. You haven't greeted me. Have I offended you?"

"No," he replied. He got to his feet and opened the door, watching for anyone that might be eavesdropping on them. When he didn't see anyone, he closed the door again. "We're in the clear."

"Thank you Spartan, you have no idea how much of a blessing that is."

Probably not.

Aeraleth stirred and then carefully made her way around the table moving so that her great head was lowered in front of Nasuada and one big, yellow eye was staring right at her. After a minute of staring, she told the Maine: '_She will do.'_

"So you're the new leader now?" He asked her.

Nasuada laughed bitterly. "Am I now? IS that leadership supposed to be mine?" Her reserve had vanished, leaving behind only composure and determination. "I know why you were here before I was and what the council is trying to do. Do you think that Saphira did not tell Arya? That Arya did not tell me? I know what the council is planning. Did you think my father never prepared for this eventuality? I expected the council to do exactly what it did. And now everything is in place for my father and me to take command of the Varden."

Good girl. "Good. Do you need me to kill the council?"

"No!" She replied with shock. "That is not necessary, as I need their advice. Besides; they are still people…and they only wish to do the best for the Varden.

The best…that sort of sounded like ONI doing the best. Now that he came to think about it, ONI has always tried their best to protect humanity whatever the cost. How come ONI and the council were so similar, yet he despised the council and worked for ONI?

"What now?" He asked her, growing tired of all the political games that the Varden was playing.

"Now, nothing. The council has forced Eragon to swear fealty to the Varden…but he has agreed to give it to me instead. Arya has agreed to my appointment as well."

He noticed that he was still standing with his arms behind his back and released them, letting them hang by his side.

"But for now, there is one problem."

Again?

She turned to face him and her expression was solemn and serious, as if she was angry with him. "I need to know where your loyalty lies. I have heard the rumors concerning your…abilities…and I have seen the Shade you claim to have mastered. How do I know I can trust you?"

"I am here to bring down the empire. Nothing more," he told the girl. It wasn't a lie –not technically. Before the UNSC could find him, he really did have nothing better to do than take down the empire. But he understood her troubles; he hadn't exactly shown much loyalty to the Varden. And he would continue to show that lack of loyalty until they had either shaped up or initiate hostilities with him. But the Varden was large and well organized in their economic and social ways. They had potential…and Aeraleth was right. He couldn't deal with both major organizations in the country hunting him down, especially not with the unknown factor that magic was. He had to make a choice soon. "But when the time comes, I will act as an official on behalf of my people."

"Which means?"

"This means that I won't oppose your leadership, just like the elves don't."

Nasuada sat down with a sigh and averted her gaze again. "This is a dark day…and the more I find out about you, the more I worry. You act as if you hold the experience to lead the Varden yourself…but that is not possible. Only younglings can be bonded to dragons; adults are not chosen. So either you are a great liar…or a great warrior. You held the skill to save my father and force a Shade to bind herself to you, so it must be the latter."

"I didn't force her," he replied. "She volunteered. She says that her mistress purged the spirits from her mind; that her mind is her own."

"Oh? Did she? That is…unlikely. Spirits are strong enough to overcome even the most skilled elves. She must be lying to you."

She wasn't lying to him, he knew that much. He was certain that the Shade was loyal to him…he just didn't know the rest. She was one little piece in a puzzle that had hundreds of missing parts. And magic was probably the answer to a lot of them. And if he wanted to find out the truth, he had to go with the elves.

But in no way did that mean that they were going to control him like the council did. The Varden's leaders were human, so they were under his protection. But the elves had no such protection. If they tried to manipulate or even fight him…he would show no mercy.

_~0~ _

"_And it is heavily illegal! Not only can these drugs cause severe brain damage if rejected, they are also inhumane! Forcing something to keep on moving and fighting when they should have perished long ago is one thing, but actually letting their minds deteriorate with time is completely unacceptable. I must see Colonel Ackerson about this, something is just not quite right. _

_- Mental Health Specialist Sunfield, logbook entry 5, 24__th__ of August 2552._

_~0~_

_**Next time:**__ Secret-Spartan-007 will witness Nasuada's crowning and officially declare himself as UNSC personnel. After that, he will travel with the group to the forest of Du Weldenvarden. Before they reach these forests however, they will first have to travel through a dwarven stronghold…where the resentful and retardedly named Az Sweldn Rak Anhüin Clan lives. This powerful dwarf clan hates the riders with a passion…._


End file.
